Should Easter Be A Long Weekend In The US?

by Dave Seminara on

At the stroke of midnight, fireworks lit up the night sky on the Greek island of Naxos. In a square outside a centuries old church, at least half the island’s population gathered to celebrate the occasion. Children ran around and threw firecrackers, senior citizens occupied all the choice benches and everyone was dressed to the nines and holding lit candles. An hour or so after midnight, everyone filed out of the square and retreated to their homes for a huge feast that breaks the Lenten fast. This is how Orthodox Easter is celebrated in towns and villages all over Greece.

If you’ve never spent Easter Sunday in a predominantly Christian country like Greece, Italy or many others in Europe and Latin America where it’s the biggest holiday of the year, you’re missing out on the travel experience of a lifetime. Here in the U.S., Easter isn’t even a public holiday worthy of a long weekend. In many parts of the country, you can drive around and shop and not even realize that it’s an important Christian holiday that celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ.





I’ve spent Easter in a variety of countries where everything completely shuts down for a few days. As a traveler, that can be disruptive and annoying. But I will never forget how joyous an occasion Easter was in Naxos. Nor will I forget an Easter Sunday I spent in Modica, in southeastern Sicily several years ago (see top photo). The entire town turns out onto the streets, dressed to kill, for a colorful procession with marching bands and then after Mass, everyone repairs to a house or restaurant for a meal fit for a king. Everyone you meet wishes you a buona Pasqua and the good vibes are contagious, even if you aren’t religious.

According to the most recent census data, about 76 percent of adults in the U.S. self identify as Christians (3.8 percent practice other religions, 15 percent don’t practice any religion, and 5 percent refused to answer the question). The First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution guarantees the separation of church and state yet Christmas is a government holiday while Easter is not. Peter Steinfels, writing in The New York Times in 1998 wrote that America was “too religious and too Christian to ignore Easter, but also too pluralist and too secular to absorb it comfortably as a national holiday.”




We are indeed a diverse country, which presents interesting opportunities for visitors to our shores, but it’s also very special to visit a largely homogenous country during a major holiday because it’s fascinating to see an entire place come to a standstill as a community celebrates out on the streets together.

Easter is a religious holiday and we’re a largely secular country, so there are good reasons why it isn’t a public holiday. But I think making Easter a long weekend would be good for the travel industry and good for the country. We take an average of 13 days off per year, compared to 38 in France, 34 in Brazil, 32 in Sweden, 27 in Germany and 19 in Australia, for example.




Surely even those who don’t celebrate Easter wouldn’t mind a long weekend, would they? Or would the declaration of Easter as a national holiday be offensive to non-Christians who are already uncomfortable with Christmas being a public holiday? Let us know how you feel about this in the comments and in the poll.

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[Photo credits: Dave Seminara, Klearchos Kapoutsis and jpereira_net on Flickr]

In America’s ‘McFarthest’ Place, Strippers And Coyote Hunting But No McDonald’s

by Dave Seminara on

If Rebecca Bierman gets an urge for a Big Mac, she has at least four options to satisfy the craving.

“I can go to Pierre or Sturgis, here in South Dakota,” says Bierman, a farmer and rancher who lives in Glad Valley, South Dakota. “Or I can go to Dickinson or Bismarck in North Dakota.”

The McDonald’s in Pierre is 142 miles from her home, the Sturgis branch is 147 miles away, and the golden arches in Dickinson and Bismarck are 146 and 159 miles away respectively. According to Stephen Von Worley, an artist and scientist from California, the area between Glad Valley and Meadow, South Dakota, is the “McFarthest” place in the country, that is, the part of America that is farthest away from a McDonald’s location. But there are places to eat in the area and one establishment even has strippers and coyote hunting contests.


According to Bierman, who grows wheat and oats along with her husband, Gene, there are only two houses with a grand total of three people in Glad Valley. There are no restaurants or businesses. She lives a mile and a half outside of town, if you can call Glad Valley that, and her husband is the town’s volunteer fire department.

“We’re very, very rural,” she says.

Bierman likes Big Macs but not enough to drive hours away to get them. Her husband wouldn’t eat at a Mickey D’s even if there was one across the street. When they want to go out to eat, there are two restaurants that are each about 20 miles away. There’s Sparky’s, a place that serves “regular American food” and is famous for its caramel nut apple pie in Isabel, a hamlet that, according to South Dakota magazine, has two farm implement dealers, a grain elevator, a medical clinic, a grocery, a hardware store and a few other businesses.

And there’s Smoky’s Bar & Grill, the only restaurant in tiny Meadow. A little further afield in Dupree, there’s a family restaurant called the Ranch House Café and an hour away, in a place called Eagle Butte, there’s a Dairy Queen, a Taco John and a gas station with a deli inside. She isn’t exactly spoiled for choice, but she isn’t complaining.

“We eat at home a lot,” she says.

When you live in a town as small as Glad Valley, you learn not to burn bridges and Bierman was guarded when asked which place she prefers.

“I could never tell you which place I like better,” she says. “That would get me in trouble around here.”

If McDonald’s decided to open a location in the area, would it be popular?

“I’m sure people would go there,” says Cindy Longbrake, the county auditor for South Dakota’s Ziebach County, which includes Glad Valley, plus the Cheyenne River Indian Reservation. “I don’t make a special trip to go to McDonald’s but if they opened up around here, I’d probably go sometimes.”

Maybe so, but McDonald’s doesn’t have fully nude strippers or coyote hunting contests, as Smoky’s does.

“We’re an unincorporated town, so the girls can go fully nude. They don’t even have to wear pasties on their breasts,” says Lisa Wagner, the owner of Smoky’s.

Wagner said that the place has been open on and off since the 1950’s when a guy nicknamed Smoky ran the place.

“When Smoky owned this place, if you were old enough to reach the bar, you were old enough to get a drink,” she says.

These days, Smoky’s is known for their charbroiled burgers and steaks, and their Sunday buffet, which includes three choices of meat, a full salad bar and coffee or lemonade for $11, or $9.50 for seniors. Every so often, Wagner has strippers come in to dance and offer table and lap dances. She lives next door to the bar and says the town has six houses and a total of five residents and five dogs.

“We’re down to five people because Bernie just recently left the nursing home, Renee passed away from cancer and her husband lives out at the lake now,” she says. “And we have one empty house, the woman died years ago but they’ve haven’t tried to sell it.”

Wagner is a recovering alcoholic who has been sober for 19 years. She doesn’t mind living in a rural area but says that her daughter, who is “kind of a vegetarian” missed Taco Bell and other fast food places when they moved to the community about a decade ago. For the moment, business is decent and Wagner isn’t worried about McDonald’s coming in to steal her customers.

“People call ahead with their orders, so we’re kind of fast food,” she says. “And besides, our burgers are much better than theirs anyways.”

[Photo credits: Frago on Flickr; Sparky’s, Smoky’s]

One Day In Nicaragua: Self-Deportation, An Active Volcano, A Dead Boa, A Dip In A Lagoon And An Art Deal Gone Bad

by Dave Seminara on

Stepping over a dead boa constrictor with flies buzzing around it wasn’t what I had in mind when I hired a guy named Carlos to take us to see Volcán Masaya, a national park in Nicaragua where you can drive right up to the crater of an active volcano. But when we piled into his Toyota Corolla on a sizzling hot morning in late February, Carlos wanted us to see much more than just the smoldering volcano.

“I’m going to take you to a farm and then we’re going to visit a mask maker, before we hit the craft market, Laguna Apoyo and the volcano,” he said, before we’d even had a chance to test his air conditioning or fasten our seatbelts.

We wanted to see the craft market in Masaya, Laguna Apoyo and the volcano but I wasn’t sure about the rest of it. That uncertainty grew when we pulled up in front of what seemed to be a dilapidated farm as a host of mangy looking dogs serenaded us with howls and barks. A young man in a dirty, pale-blue T-shirt led us into some caged enclosures to look at iguanas and Carlos asked me if I’d ever eaten one. I have not.


“It takes like pork,” he said. “You put it in a tortilla and serve it with a little salt and lemon juice. You want to try it?”

I didn’t but I’d seen Andrew Zimmern feast on iguana, porcupine and other exotic delicacies while filming his Nicaragua episode back in 2009 and was curious where he went. Carlos said that there was only one restaurant that had retained a permit to cook iguanas and it was in Masaya, near where we were going.

Carlos and the farmhand showed us some turtles, lizards and bunnies before leading us into a caged enclosure to see some boa constrictors. I assumed they would be inside cages but as we stepped inside the enclosure, we nearly tripped over a dead boa, whose carcass was a target for swarms of dozens of hungry winged creatures.

“When did he die?” I asked Carlos.

“Hard to say,” he said as the farmhand began poking a stick under some empty shelving units behind us. “But there are four other boas in here, don’t worry.”

“Four other boas?” my wife said, grabbing our little boys, ages 3 and 5. “Where?”

“They could be anywhere in here,” Carlos said.

And with that, we were ready to exit, but the farmhand seized a massive boa by the neck and we couldn’t help but stop to stare at the darn thing. It was hissing and coiling itself around the guy’s arms, clearly pissed off. For all we knew, it probably killed the dead boa in the corner, so after a few minutes we beat a retreat back to the car.

The visit to the mask maker felt safer and, to me, more interesting. I’m usually leery of these types of stops on a tour because typically the point is to bring you to a place where you will hopefully buy something, securing a commission for your guide in the process. The whole spectacle makes me feel like a piece of meat on a hook in a slaughterhouse, but in this case, it was just an old man sitting in the courtyard of his home with no shirt on making colorful, painted masks with his own hands. He made no attempt to sell us anything and seemed please to have us wandering around his home, snapping photos and asking ignorant questions.

The craft market at Masaya, built in 1891 and refurbished in 1997, is the best place to buy handicrafts and souvenirs in Nicaragua. There are dozens of vendors and if you enjoy haggling, this is the place for you. I sparred with a 4-foot-tall woman who called me “my love” and “my dear” over a painting I wanted but ended up paying very close to her original asking price because she correctly sensed that I really wanted the thing and used that advantage to crush me like a bug.

After a delicious lunch and a dip in the Laguna de Apoyo, a terrific swimming hole near Masaya, Carlos told us about his U.S. immigration woes. When he was 12, his mother arranged to send him to the U.S. by purchasing fake identity documents to make it appear as though he was the child of a Nicaraguan woman who had a better chance of getting a U.S. tourist visa than she did. At 22, he paid an unscrupulous immigration attorney $10,000 to try to legalize his status but it didn’t work and he eventually returned to Nicaragua. Now, at 40, he felt like his chance to live in the States had come and gone.

The Masaya volcano has to be one of just a handful in the world where you can drive right up to its craters. The volcano has erupted 18 times since the early 16th Century with the last major eruption going down in 1772, but there was some volcanic activity in April of last year that forced the closure of the park for several weeks. Prior to 1529, locals threw virgins and children into the volcano as sacrifices, and during the Somoza dictatorship in the ’70s, dissidents were also supposedly tossed into the volcano.

We hiked around the Santiago crater and although I appreciated the view and the novelty of standing right on the age of the smoldering volcano, I felt dizzy after a half hour and couldn’t help but assume that in the U.S., tourists wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the crater of an active volcano.




On the way back to the hotel, Carlos regaled us with stories about tourists he’s guided and I asked him if he wanted to see tourism boom in Nicaragua.




“We want more tourists,” he said. “But not at the expense of our culture and our traditions. We’ve got to keep what we have.”

[Photo/video credits: Dave Seminara]

Vagabond Tales: How Travel Can Literally Make You Younger

by Kyle Ellison on

The famous Spanish explorer Ponce de León spent parts of his travels on an unfruitful search for the fountain of youth.

Sailing from Puerto Rico to Florida in 1513 on a voyage, which would become the first documented European exploration of the American mainland, rumors of de León’s search for the mythical fountain wouldn’t arise until documents published after his death (which, as it turns out, wasn’t due to old age, but from being wounded in the thigh by a poisoned arrow during an exploration of Southwestern Florida).

Unfortunately for de León, not only was he was searching in the wrong ocean for the secret of anti-aging, he was also searching in the wrong century. Had de León been sailing around the western Pacific in, say, 1910, he would have discovered a completely arbitrary line, which has the ability to make a traveler an entire day younger.

Sure, you might only be younger on the calendar as opposed to in actuality, but thanks to the existence of the International Date Line, trans-Pacific travelers technically possess the ability to go back in time.For those who aren’t familiar (or who have never crossed over the non-existent line), the International Date Line was established as a way of making sense of the world’s time zones for explorers who were traveling across oceans.

Magellan found out on his first circumnavigation of the globe that despite the fact he had kept meticulous record of the days on his journey, he nevertheless returned to Europe and was off by an entire day. Similarly, those traveling eastbound would discover that upon returning home, days, which they had recorded as having happened, actually hadn’t happened yet.

Since no imaginary line had been crossed, which would denote you had “crossed into yesterday,” explorers would continue with their erroneous calculations until an International Meridian conference was finally held in Washington D.C. in 1884. Delegates from 25 nations decided that the “International Date Line” would be 180 degrees from the Prime Meridian in England, and conveniently, this line passed mostly through water.

Over the course of its 129-year history, however, the specific location of the “line” has been conveniently shifted on numerous occasions, most recently in 2011 when Samoa up and decided they were going to move across to the other side of the line.

The reason? The government figured that being closer in time zones to Australia and New Zealand would attract more tourists who simply couldn’t be bothered with flying all the way to a country, which is located in yesterday.

“That’s great. Enough history. Where does the time travel part come in and how can travel make you younger?“

While the establishment of the line was a mere calendar convenience during the days of oceanic travel, with the advent of the airplane and trans-oceanic flights, travelers suddenly had the ability to reach a nation on the other side of the line in less time than it takes the world to spin and catch up. Thanks to the ability to propel ourselves through the air at speeds in excess of 600 mph, it’s now possible to actually live the same day twice.

This was a trendy realization of novelty-seekers who actually celebrated the year 2000 in Sydney, Australia, and then promptly hopped on an eastbound plane to Honolulu so that they could experience the whole party for a second time.

They departed on January 1, 2000, landed on December 31, 1999, and after a quick nap on the plane were geared up and ready to party all over again.

While this isn’t exactly news for those who cross the dateline regularly, what if that day where you skipped back in time … just so happened to be your birthday? Technically, then, according to a calendar and whole numbers, would you not actually become younger?

As it just so happens, I experienced this phenomenon this very past year. My wife and I met a friend for my birthday dinner in Auckland, New Zealand. We went to an Indian restaurant. We drank wine (Gewurtztraminer goes great with curry), and the date was February 13. On the stroke of midnight we clinked glasses to the day of my birth, February 14, and I had officially turned 29.

Hopping on an eastbound flight to Honolulu the next morning at 9 a.m., I drooled on the window in a semi-hungover fog as we passed up and over the imaginary line. Landing nine hours later in Honolulu, I awoke to the reality of it once again being February 13.

I was now 28. Again.

Have you ever experienced your birthday twice in the same year? Share your tales of dateline madness in the comments section below.

Want more travel stories? Read the rest of the “Vagabond Tales” over here.

[Photo Credit: Heather Ellison]

Why We Travel: The Opportunity To Meet Other Addicts

by Dave Seminara on

“Where are you from?”

It’s the conversation starter you sometimes hear several times per day when you travel. On this occasion, the question was posed by a friendly, bearded waiter from Barcelona at the Amici Ristorante in the small beach town of Santa Teresa, on Costa Rica’s lovely Nicoya Peninsula. I told him I was from Buffalo and lived in Chicago and he said, “Chicago? You have to meet Giovanni, our pizza maker, he lived in Chicago.”

Giovanni was standing near the wood fire oven, tending to a slew of pizzas and I almost didn’t bother to go over to meet him. At home in Chicago, I probably wouldn’t be curious enough to greet the guy making our pizza, but when I travel I’m almost a different person. I am more outgoing, friendlier, more willing to take chances. And when I’m on the road, I always meet the most interesting people. So I walked over to Giovanni and introduced myself.He was originally from Sardinia but had lived all over. Just prior to moving to Costa Rica to work at Amici – which is owned by one of his friends – he lived in Chicago.

“I’m a gypsy,” he said. “I don’t stay anywhere too long.”

We compared notes about Chicago and it turned out that he lived in Evanston, which is the suburb I live in. I asked him what street he lived on and it was the street right next to mine. I asked what his exact address was and then looked it up on Google maps. He lived in an apartment 2-1/2 blocks from ours. It’s quite possible that our paths had crossed before – maybe we walked past each other on the street but had never stopped to chat.

Giovanni told me that I had to try a restaurant called Trattoria DOC, where he used to work, and it took me a minute to register the absurdity of the conversation. I was getting a recommendation for a restaurant five minutes away from my house from a guy who lived two blocks from me in a remote Costa Rican beach town. Our paths probably never would have crossed in Chicago.

Conventional wisdom dictates that travelers ought to focus on meeting locals when they’re on the road. And I agree that in order to understand the place you’re visiting, you have to get to know some people who live there. But as a traveler, you probably have more in common with your fellow travelers than with the person selling tomatoes in the market, or driving your cab, or many of the other people you will encounter while away from home. It would be a shame to travel to another country and not meet any locals but it’s just as big a mistake to avoid your fellow travelers.

Over the years, I’ve made friends with French people in Mexico, Mexicans in Spain, Dutch in Costa Rica, Scandinavians in Greece, Germans in Italy and just about every other international combination imaginable. The stories and the times I’ve shared with these people are just as memorable as the places where our paths crossed.

On a recent 15-day trip to Costa Rica and Nicaragua, I met some wonderful locals, but the people I met who I am most likely to stay in touch with are from all around the world. While hiking in Rincon de la Vieja National Park, for example, I met a Dutch couple, Marion Bloem and Ivan Wolffers who, as I found out, are both bestselling authors in The Netherlands (see top photo). They regaled me with stories about a six-month trip they took through the Americas and while Marion, who is 60 but looks and hikes like she is 35, blazed a path ahead of us, Ivan told me stories about traditional healers he has studied in Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Bangladesh and other exotic places.


Costa Rica’s magnificent beaches draw surfers, sun-worshippers and dreamers from around the world and after meeting three North Americans who moved to Santa Teresa and now work at Florblanca, the magnificent eco-resort I stayed in while in town, I couldn’t help but fantasize about moving there myself.

Trish, a native of British Columbia, visited the town 13 years ago when the area around Florblanca didn’t even have electricity and there was little tourism to speak of. She slept in a tent on the beach and fell in love with the place. Five years later she moved to Santa Teresa and hasn’t looked back since. Her colleague Billy, a 40-year-old American with a Peruvian wife, came to surf and started a business that didn’t pan out but still lives in a house on the beach just down the road from the resort. And the general manager of the place, Cody, A Missouri native, studied journalism in Boulder but fell in love with Santa Teresa and decided to put down roots in the community.

In Nicaragua, I met Robert Kruijthoff, a 30-something Dutchman who quit his job as an investment banker to operate a bed and breakfast in Costa Rica; Luis Rolando Casamalhuapa, a Salvadoran singer with an amazing voice; and a Canadian couple that left the rat race in Vancouver to open El Garaje, one of the best restaurants in Granada, among others.

Every time I travel abroad and meet a slew of interesting fellow travelers and expats, it reaffirms my belief that travelers are the most interesting people you can meet.

I love to meet nomads who spent months each year on the road and expats who visit a place, fall in love with it and decide to relocate there. As a compulsive traveler who is miserable when forced to stay put for too long, meeting fellow vagabonds on the road is like joining an Alcoholics Anonymous chapter. There is comfort in getting to know people that are even more adventurous and restless than I am.

So in your zeal to understand the place you are visiting, don’t ignore your fellow wanderers, because you have more in common with them than you might realize. And you never know, the people you meet might actually be neighbors you’d never known unless you traveled far from home.

[Photo credits: Dave Seminara]