Foreign “safety vernacular” for women

There is, as they say, a time and place for everything. And sometimes, ladies, that occurs when you’re traveling. I encourage anyone who travels to a foreign country to learn a few key phrases and learn a bit about the place, in order to avoid cultural faux pas. Even something as innocuous as patting a child on the head in Thailand is considered a grievous offense, because the head is considered the the highest (and thus most sacred) part of the body.

It’s also bad form to lose your temper in Asia and other parts of the world, because it goes against cultural mores. But what to do when your safety is threatened, or if you’re being relentlessly hit upon?

It’s for this reason that I’ve developed what I like to call “safety vernacular” in a variety of languages. While I speak Spanish, I only know the aforementioned key phrases in other tongues: “please,” “thank you,” “what’s your name,” “where’s the bathroom?” But I also know how to swear like a banshee, and employ the varying degrees of “Get lost” that range from polite to, “If you don’t get out of my face now, you’re going to lose your testicles.”Now, you’re probably asking, “Is that really necessary?” Yes, it is. And it just may save your life.

What you say, and how you say it — as well as how you physically react — depends upon where you’re traveling. Sometimes it’s best to just ignore your harasser and move on. You don’t want to make a bad situation worse by responding aggressively in a country where women simply don’t act that way/where it could further encourage or antagonize your would-be attacker or paramour. And please, follow your guidebook’s advice on appropriate dress — not only will it help you blend in (inasmuch as that’s possible); it’s also a matter of cultural respect. Leave the Daisy Dukes at home, and pack a bra. While it doesn’t help in the vernacular department, a great book for cultural advice is Behave Yourself! The essential guide to international etiquette, by Michael Powell.

From chikan to “Eve-teasing”

Let’s take Tokyo’s Metro. It’s infamous for acts of chikan, or frotteurism, and foreigners aren’t exempt. Please note this doesn’t mean all Japanese men are evil perverts, or that riding the subway in Japan means you’re going to get felt up. But put it this way: it’s become such an issue that some railway companies in Japan designate women-only cars during peak hours.

Anyway. Japan is a country where it’s imperative not to “lose face.” Screaming at a frotteur and smacking him across the face, while perhaps the appropriate response, isn’t going to fly. Instead, find a guidebook that will tell you how best to deal with the situation, as well as provide you with a handy phrase to thwart it. “Eve-teasing” is a similar form of public harassment prevalent in India, as are open, leering stares. The best way to handle it is to ignore the stares, seek the company of other (local) women on public transit, or to call out your harasser in a crowd — public humiliation is very effective in India.

On how phrasebooks can help

It is for these situations that I swear by Lonely Planet Phrasebooks. They’re published in just about every language a traveler would require: Swahili to Southeast Asian hill tribe dialects; Basque to Mongolian. Not only do these little books offer cultural tidbits, but they’re packed with appropriate emergency phrases ranging from “Help!” “I’ve been raped,” and “How do I find the ____ embassy?” to sections on “Dating and Romance,” “Cultural Differences,” and “Specific Needs” travel. The various authors also have a great sense of (albeit dark) humor.

For example: the Spanish Phrasebook (Spain/Basque) offers these two gems: Por favor, deje de molestarme (Please stop hassling me), and Estoy aqui con mi esposo (I’m here with my husband). There are also phrases for “Do you have a condom?” and, “I might be in a wheelchair, but I’m not stupid!” See, very handy. The Portuguese Phrasebook also contains, in the “Making Love/Afterwards” section, “Would you like a cigarette?” and, “I think you should leave now.”

And some real-world examples…

But we’re talking safety here, and not the kind a condom can protect you from (although do take some with you; you really don’t want to be purchasing them in developing nations with less-regulated testing standards). In Italy and Latin America, the local women have no problem telling annoying men where to get off, and you should follow suit. I always make a point of saying I have a husband (it’s somewhat more effective than “boyfriend,” and I learned my lesson the one time I said I was a lesbian to a pesky Italian in a bar. “Aah!” he cried with delight, “Leccamento il fico! (“licking the fig”).”)

Anyhoo. I’ve found that said pesky Italians are best met with a loud, “Vaffanculo, stronzo (“Fu*k off, di*khead!)!” Once, in a dodgy situation in Mexico, I screamed, “Largate! O patear las bolas!” According to the Mexican friend who taught me all the bad (and safety) words I know en espanol, if said forcefully, this slang translates as, “Fu*k off! Or I’ll kick you in the balls!” Whatever; it worked. So did the use of “Get lost!” in Arabic to two sketchy boys who stalked me while I was lost in a Marrakesh souk.

So there you have it. Don’t go looking for trouble, but don’t invite trouble by looking (and acting) like a victim. A little pre-trip research, and keeping your wits about you on the road will go a long way toward ensuring you come home with nothing more than great memories and all of your valuables.

Snow, sweat, and salami: A day in the life of an avalanche dog

With avalanches, timing is everything. Your chances of surviving burial without asphyxiating (if you’re not instantaneously pulverized) are 90-percent during the first fifteen minutes. Things go downhill quickly after that, and at 30 minutes, your odds are 50:50. The most important thing to do if buried in a slide is create an air pocket.

Salami is also helpful to your survival (as you’ll see). Odds are, if you’re caught in an avalanche, a Search and Rescue (SAR) dog will be first at the scene. The little caskets of restorative brandy attached to their collar? Alas, just a myth.

I recently found myself playing crash (smash?) test dummy at Alpental ski area, in Western Washington’s Snoqualmie Pass. The region is the most active avalanche area in the state, and home to three separate ski resort BARK teams, including Stevens Pass, and Crystal Mountain. BARK (Backcountry Avalanche Rescue K9s) is a statewide, non-profit, volunteer-based mountain rescue organization of ski patrollers and Washington State Department of Transportation (WSDOT) avalanche workers, and their canine compadres.

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Ski patroller Kevin Huggett, 47, is president of the Alpental team. Last month, he invited me to participate in one of their weekly training days. It’s been a freakishly warm winter in Washington, but spring conditions can actually increase avalanche risk by creating instability within the snow pack.

A contemplative, deep-voiced man with a dark, bushy mustache (imagine an alpine Tom Selleck) Huggett helps oversee trainings, in which the seven dogs and their handlers practice drills that simulate avalanche and lost person rescue. He’s a busy guy, but it’s his workaholic, six-year-old black Lab, Bazuka, who’s achieved local celebrity status.

Bazuka’s a bad ass, assisting in the rescue of the buried and hapless. Last summer, she alone found a lost, disoriented, 75-year-old woman who had wandered away from her family. Bazuka loves rappelling from helicopters, and rides the chair lift to work. Her sensitive nose can detect the difference between live human scent buried beneath up to ten feet of snow, and that of an article of clothing; she was tracking at ten weeks of age. Bazuka is trained in cadaver retrieval, but she’s also a pet, living in nearby Hyak with Huggett, his wife, Judy, and their 11-year-old Lab, Porter, a BARK veteran.

When I meet Bazuka, she is wearing a red, nylon pocketed vest stuffed with first aid supplies, a transceiver (avalanche beacon), and other equipment. She greets me by licking my hands, then barks at Huggett to take her to work, already. Obediently, we take Chair 2 to the ski patrol hut atop Edelweiss Bowl. Inside, it smells of frying sausage and testosterone. Patrollers Kevin Marston, Kevin Ward, and Alpental avalanche forecaster Bram Thrift, are sitting in front of a heater. Their dogs, Greta (dignified yellow Lab), Hoss (Golden the size of a Mack truck), and Gibb (squirrely Australian shepherd), wait patiently in cubbies near the door.

At 11am, we set off into a white out (nothing screws with your self-esteem like skiing with patrollers in crappy weather) to the “open trench” site. Each dog will run the procedure, locating in turn their handler, a “known” person, and a stranger (aka me) in a shallow hole, then again, while we’re buried under six inches of snow.

As Marston shovels snow over me, I recall that the last time I went caving, I had a claustrophobia-induced freak-out in a tube. This time, at least, my face isn’t shoved into ten thousand-year-old bat shit, but it’s easy to imagine being entombed in snow is its own special hell. Yet, I feel strangely peaceful. Meditative. Probably because there isn’t 165 tons of snow on top of me, and I’m equipped with transceiver and radio.

I’m in the fetal position, clutching a handful of cured meat as a training reward, and trying not to huff too much oxygen from the small air space I’ve been provided. I have several minutes to contemplate the forces of nature, and wonder why out-of-bounders so enjoy courting death. I hear Marston command Greta to “Search!” Within seconds, she scrabbles above me, tunneling into the snow. Her head and shoulders burst into the trench. Our noses touch. As instructed, I cry, “Good girl! Good find!” and shove salami in her face.

With each drill, the dogs yip and leap in ecstasy, whining when their handlers disappear from view. I ask Huggett if they have separation anxiety. “They get excited, and don’t like to be left out of the fun- for them, it’s play.” he explains. “Their bond with us teaches them to find someone.” Moments later, he directs Thrift to keep Gibb- a newbie- engaged longer at the rescue site, to make the “find” the most thrilling part of the exercise.

SAR dogs are trained using positive reinforcement. “Dogs always cheat,” says Marston. “Their sense of smell is so acute, we need to try and confuse them. We increase the difficulty by dispersing scent on articles of clothing, so the dog has to determine if it’s live scent, and if it’s coming from under or on top of the snow. We always change locations, and use a snowcat to scatter debris, to erase any visual cues.”

The second site is a half-mile from the hut. Two caves have been excavated beneath six feet of snow; their construction enables “victims” to remain safe and comfortable for up to an hour. Our skis and poles, and some items of clothing lie scattered about the site, to further distract the dogs. Each animal has 10 minutes to leave the hut, locate, and rescue. The remaining team verbally enacts rescue procedure, relaying logistics and site assessment via radio.

At my turn, I slither into a six-foot-long cave, where I’ll remain for 30 minutes, as Bazuka and Hoss take turns rescuing me from hypothetical slow death. In reality, I’m pretty comfortable, if a bit cold, reclining on an insulated foam pad. A hot toddy would be nice. When I hear Bazuka barking wildly, I know she’s located me. Her reward of choice? A rubber Kong toy.

Given the time, expense (roughly two thousand dollars annually, including equipment, gas, and vet bills), and rigorous training involved to certify SAR dogs and handlers- for exhausting, dangerous volunteer work- it’s obviously a labor of love. The dogs get accolades, playtime, and Scooby Snacks. What drives guys like Huggett and his crew is a desire to also use their pets for a purpose, “to help people.” Besides, he adds, “How can you not enjoy playing with dogs all day?”

By 2pm, training’s over, and the dogs are off-duty until the 3pm closing “sweep.” Then, they’ll help the patrollers cover the 300-acre ski area, making sure everyone is safely off the upper mountain. Huggett is also working the lower mountain’s night-skiing shift. He and Bazuka will have put in 15 hours by the time they’re done, but they don’t mind. “If our dog teams make a difference for just one person,” Huggett says, “it’s all worth it. In Dog we Trust!”

If you’d like to make a donation to BARK, please email alpentalbark@yahoo.com.

What is SAR?
SAR is a domestic, non-profit, volunteer training/certification program that provides search and aid for people who are lost, in distress, or imminent danger. Rescuers can specialize in one or more of the following areas: K9, Horse, Snowmobile, Ground Search, Disaster, EMT, Ropes, Avalanche, etc. SAR criteria are dictated by state and county. Other countries also have versions of SAR.

BARK members are trained to SAR standards, but BARK is its own entity. Only qualified ski patrollers and WSDOT avalanche workers can be in BARK.

If you want to know more about all phases of canine search and rescue, contact the National Search Dog Alliance (NSDA).

Saving Your Hide in a Slide
If you’re attempting any (legal) backcountry pursuit (out-of-bounders = douchebags), you should take an avalanche awareness course, check conditions before heading out, and always carry a beacon and probe. Let people know where you’re going/when you’ll be back, and go with at least several partners. Sometimes, shit happens anyway, but since many people don’t follow even this relatively basic Darwinian protocol, remember that searchers are risking their lives- and their dogs’- to save yours. For information on avalanche awareness classes, contact the American Avalanche Association (AAA), the American Avalanche Institute (AAI), or the American Institute for Avalanche Research and Education (AIARE).

Five sexy ways to carry your valuables safely

We all want to be safe when we travel. It’s a given. Crime on the road is almost always unexpected and can really mess up your trip. There are some situations we simply can’t prepare for (Godzilla, for example, or the Spanish Inquisition), but we can be smart about what we wear and how we carry our valuables.

Safety-wear is a dangerous can of worms for the fashionably inclined. I am not someone who can handle wearing a fanny pack (or “bum bag” for those of you who are British and appalled that I said “fanny”). I don’t like things that are too bulky and I completely disapprove of anything that is aggressively “anti-theft;” it usually means “heavy” and “ugly.” One should not have to sacrifice their sense of style for safety.

There’s good news: one does not. Here are five sexy ways to carry your valuables safely:

Money belt
“That’s not sexy!” you might proclaim. There was a time when I would have agreed with you. However, this was before I discovered the secret joy of the money belt: put it under your clothes and pull it tight. It shrinks your waist or flattens your stomach; it basically does everything Spanx would if you bothered wearing them while traveling. Be careful you don’t pull too tight or you’ll have an uncomfortable breathing situation which could lead to friction burns, and make sure the clothes you wear over it are skimming, not form-fitting. Most importantly, make sure you position it so you can get to it without disrobing publicly. That will invite a different kind of crime.

Thigh sheath
The thigh sheath is arguably the sexiest way to carry your valuables. Scott reviewed the PortaPocket, and I’m into that, but I like the sexy lambskin Wallet with Garters above ($19.95, and yes, it comes in other colors), or for vegans, the ruggedness of the Medical Trauma Thigh Pouch in “Coyote Tan” ($89.95). It calls forth images of video game and film heroines. Plus, if someone’s stealing from a pouch on the inside of your thigh, you’re going to notice. I recommend wearing it under a dress or skirt for full concealment.Bag that zips
I will always argue that a fanny pack doesn’t make you safer; it makes you look like a tourist. Don’t buy one. Backpacks can be easy to pickpocket, as can most tote bags. Stick with messenger bags and purses that zip for carrying valuables. Even a bag that zips can be a liability in a loud place, as you won’t hear a gentle pickpocketer. Another common trick: someone will start a conversation with you to distract you from their friend, who is quickly digging for your wallet. You best bet is to keep your bag zipped and hold it under your arm so that you can see the zipper pull at all times. Don’t bother putting things in the outside pockets unless you’re willing to lose them.

Tilley hat
Tilley hats are pretty darn cool looking. Flip through the gallery in Serious traveling hats and you’re likely to find something you like. As an added bonus, each one has a hidden compartment right on top of the head. That’s a good place for your stuff.

Secret pockets
And, speaking of hidden compartments, one safety feature many stylish garments already include is the secret pocket. You’ll find these in perfectly respectable (even sexy!) coats, on the inner rims of some shorts and all over the place on ScotteVest products, including fashionable jackets and form-fitting pullovers. When you’re packing, choose the item with the secret pocket over the item without, and you may find yourself freed from carrying a bag in some situations — and much safer than you would be if you had your wallet and phone in your back pocket.

I mean, even if you don’t get pickpocketed, I hear about a lot of things ending up in the toilet that way.

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Daily Pampering: Visit “the pharmacy of the holy trinity”


Saint Charles Apotheke is a small Viennese empire producing all-natural, locally grown products specifically designed to make you look and feel better. Alfred Blumenthal founded the original pharmacy in 1886, and it has lived in Vienna, Austria’s 6th district since the early 20th century. For a long time and for reasons forgotten, it was known as “the pharmacy of the holy trinity.”

Since its early days, the pharmacy has expanded from the above Apotheke location, filled with herbs with fun-to-recognize names like “lavendel” and “kamille” and potions and elixirs, to include a Cosmothecary across the street with facial creams and body serums, as well as a calming spa treatment room for massages, facials and whatever else you’d like to experience in an all-natural, eco-conscious, uniquely Austrian way. Their Saint Charles label consists of products sourced from their own Austrian “refugium,” where everything is grown and concocted into health-improving tonics and elixirs according to extensive research in traditional European medicine and, most recently, phytotherapy. You can walk in, tell them how you’re feeling and get a full prescription of helpful remedies from digestive teas and skin-improving lotions to aphrodisiac “love potions.”

Furthermore, they have opened a small restaurant next to the Cosmothecary called the Alimentary, known as “Austria’s first pharmacy restaurant.” There, you can eat or take home locally grown foods designed to respect the environment and make you healthier. They even offer cooking classes.

To visit the pharmacy of the holy trinity, check out their Saint Charles Apotheke website here, and get yourself to Vienna. You can shop online here if you’d rather get the Austrian experience at home.

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Want more? Get your daily dose of pampering right here.

My visit to Vienna was sponsored by the Vienna Tourist Board and Cool Capitals, but the opinions expressed in the article are 100% my own.

The empty bladder: why hydration packs make great travel companions

I’ve never been into purses. Even at home, I find them loathsomely girly, and they completely jack up my bad back. When I began zipping all over the globe as a food and travel writer, a day pack was the only thing that made sense for my carry-on/on-the-road essentials (my clothes and other gear go in my beloved Dana Designs Bomb Pack).

While I travel pretty light, there are things I require be within close proximity to my body: passport, copies of passport and medical insurance, emergency contact info., cash, credit and ATM cards (always carry a back-up for when, say, the machine in Portugal decides to eat yours), camera, flash drive, water bottle, water purification tablets or filtration system (I’ve finally learned my lesson on why these are non-negotiable), pocketknife (don’t forget to check it before you fly), notepad, hand sanitizer, tampons (Ladies, do not trust foreign countries to have ’em), Kleenex-aka-TP, Imodium and ibuprofen, sunblock, sunglasses, snacks, language guide, reading material, itinerary, sarong for freezing bus and plane rides. These are the items I am utterly screwed without; should everything else get stolen, life will suck, but I’ll be fine.

Due to my somewhat misanthropic tendencies, I choose never to rely upon the hotel safe or front desk for stowage of my valuables.That, my friends, is why I consider my daypack to be an extension of my body when I travel. I remove it to shower, and to sleep (I’ve also kept it hooked upon my arm while sleeping, when I end up in some shit-hole with a malfunctioning door lock). My day pack goes out drinking with me; it goes dancing, fords rivers, rides horses, and climbs mountains.

It’s a bit of a pain (literally and figuratively) at times, but at least I know I’m in charge of my travel essentials. And yes, I look like a total dork, trudging from destination to destination with my big pack on my back, and my daypack worn across my chest, marsupial-style. But it’s convenient, and it doesn’t throw me off-balance the way a messenger bag or purse would.

I don’t do money belts or fanny packs. I find them too small to be of use, inconvenient, and uncomfortable in hot weather. They scream “tourist.” You’re not fooling those gypsy kids in the piazza — they know you’re packing under your Ex Officio shirt. If I’m in a sketchy area or crowded place like a market, I’ll wear my daypack across my chest, because it’s less likely to be vandalized or cut off my body. Sometimes, I’ll also use travel locks on the zippers (which is why having double zips on your pack’s stowage compartments is key). You’re probably thinking, “Paranoid, much?” but put it this way: I’ve never had a theft, and I’d much rather look lame than spend a few days stranded somewhere, waiting for the Embassy to process my new passport.

Over the years, I’ve experimented with a wide variety of brands and sizes, and I’ve learned that hydration packs, like those made by Camelbak, Burton, DaKine, and Osprey’s new Hydraulics line (coming to a store near you this week), make great travel companions. I always remove the bladder, and leave it at home. The zippered bladder compartment makes the ultimate passport/plane ticket/itinerary holder. It’s flush against your back, so it’s theft-proof while you’re wearing it. Documents are also more likely to stay dry in this padded compartment, when you’re inevitably caught in a downpour or if fording that river doesn’t go as planned.

Everyone has different needs, and I’m not loyal to any particular brand because by the time one of my packs bites the dust, there’s something better on the market (don’t forget to check the company’s warranty policy before you purchase). Because I’m petite- 5’2″, and 100 lbs., I’ve come to rely upon women’s lines to give me the right fit. It really does make a difference, and your body will thank you. I could wear a kid’s pack, but they just don’t offer the tech-details and bells and whistles of adult versions. They also tend to be made in obnoxious colors. Come to think of it, it would be nice if all those great-fitting women’s packs weren’t always pastel or adorned with foofy graphics.

I also require elasticized side pockets, a hip belt and sternum strap for serious day-treks, deep stowage pockets with zips, an interior key chain for keeping hotel keys handy, and a reinforced bottom layer that can withstand dragging, maximum weight load, and pointy objects. Top-loading packs, and designs with zips that splay the pack in two are just begging to be pick-pocketed. Also, if your zipper breaks, you’re SOL. I’ll say it again: Look for multi-zip compartments that don’t go all the way down on either side.

Purchase a couple of mid-weight carabiners to clip onto your pack’s front loop (make sure it has one, or the equivalent). They’re invaluable for toting items like travel mugs, wet bathing suits, a pair of shoes (knot the laces together), or small grocery sacks.

Now, go forth and travel. Hold your bladder until you get home.


Before you go, be sure to check out Gadling’s Travel Talk TV! This week, the guys are in VEGAS!