5 Flu Season Travel Essentials

by Laurel Miller on

We all know that airplanes double as mobile petri dishes. But with a particularly nasty flu epidemic upon us, the Gadling team thought we’d mother you by reminding you to get your flu shot, already. That, and bring along these proven deterrents to the flu and other airborne nastiness. Look at it this way: it can’t hurt.

1. Airborne or Emergen-C: If nothing else, these will shorten the duration and symptoms of an oncoming bout of cold or flu, if taken regularly at onset of symptoms. You can also talk to your travel doctor or primary care provider about prophylactic immune supplements (be wary of homeopathic or naturopathic preparations, which may not be FDA-approved, or could interact with prescription drugs you may be taking. Always talk to your pharmacist, first.).

2. Travel pillow: Need another reason? Because sharing leftover drool from an airline pillow is gross. While you’re at it, pack a lightweight blanket or shawl; if you are coming down with something, it will ward off the chills. And god knows your airline won’t supply you with one.

3. Ibuprofen: Being crammed into a seat is uncomfortable enough without adding fever aches to the mix.

3. Packet of antibacterial wipes: This time of year, it’s a good idea to wipe down airline bathroom faucets, your tray table, and possibly that runny-nosed, coughing toddler seated next to you.

4. Hand Sanitizer: Travelers should always be in the habit of carrying this, in lieu of soap and water. Use it after touching ATM’s, airline check-in screens, elevator buttons and money.

[Photo credit: Flickr user @alviseni]

Tales Of A Reluctant Unpacker

by Micheline Maynard on

There are two kinds of travelers in the world – those who unpack promptly after a trip, and those who can’t bring themselves to do so.

I fall into the latter category. More times than not, I am unpacking my suitcase in order to pack for my next trip. Apparently, I’m not alone, because when I asked friends about this on Facebook, I got more unpacking procrastination stories than replies from the tidy.

It’s a conundrum, because whenever I’m on a trip, I unpack my suitcase as soon as I arrive, even if I’m only staying for two nights. Things that need to be hung up immediately are placed in the closet, or put on hangers in the bathroom if a light steam is required. I create an accessories drawer, a T-shirt drawer and one for sweaters. Then I put my empty suitcase in a corner, or in the closet.

My parents were strict unpackers. As soon as we got in the door after a vacation, my parents toted the American Touristers upstairs. “Give me your laundry,” my mother would say, and woosh! Down the chute it would go. Sometimes, she would start a load that very night, and I’d fall asleep to the sounds of the washing machine.

Perhaps that’s one reason why I am in no rush now to get at my suitcase, although I’m getting a little old for parental rebellion.

I’ve decided there are some practical and some psychological reasons why I leave my battered Tumi on the dining room floor as long as possible.

  1. As long as you haven’t unpacked, the trip is still underway. One of my friends cited this thought. I love the idea that an unpacked suitcase keeps you in Paris, or New Orleans or Borneo. The unopened suitcase is like the Pandora’s Box of memories. Keep it zipped, and they stay with you. Open the lid, and they’ll fly away.
  2. I don’t need what’s in there. Usually, when I travel, it’s for business or a specific type of place. As a writer who works from home, I’m not wearing power clothes every day. And, since I try to pack light, I usually have extra versions of my travel wardrobe waiting when I get home. Likewise, I use travel sizes of my shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, etc., so the full-size editions are on the bathroom shelf.
  3. It means work. Unpacking means doing laundry, or taking clothes to the dry cleaners, or at the very least, hanging things up. If I’m jetlagged, or just tired from a long road trip like the one I took down South this summer, I don’t have the energy to deal with it right away. Also, I’ve usually done laundry to get ready for my trip, and there’s not enough for a full load when I get home, so I like to wait until there is. (Hey, we’re talking excuses here; I’m not saying this is logical.)
  4. If I don’t unpack, I don’t make a mess. I admit it: in my younger days, I was a devotee of the floor-drobe, i.e. things left in piles on the floor. Now, I don’t have that much space, so it’s a dresser-drobe, and I have gotten much, much better at being organized. (I promise!) Given that, a packed suitcase is the ultimate in organization. Nothing is lying about.

Of course, there are instances where I do unpack immediately, at least partially. I generally pack my makeup bag and my eyeglasses last, and I usually need both of those within a day of arrival, so those come out right away.

I also try to reverse pack when I leave, and put dirty clothes and dry cleaning on top, as well as the plastic bag with my wet swimsuit, if I have one. That spurs me to at least deal with that layer. I put a dry cleaning bag or another divider between the mussed and clean clothes, so I’ll know when to pause my unpacking.

And, I unpack any presents or food that are in the bag, although I prefer that those go in my carry on. Lastly, if I know I have a short turnaround between trips, I’ll usually do a fast unpack and repack before too much time passes.

But when you visit my house, don’t be surprised if you see books, travel posters and a black rolling bag stashed in the corner. Consider it decor.

[Photo Credit: Flickr user NiH]

Dim Sum For Christmas: Creating A Holiday Tradition At Home

by Laurel Miller on

With very few exceptions, I’ve spent the last 17-plus Christmases going out for dim sum. No matter where I’m living at the time, once December rolls around, I start researching the best places to indulge my har gow habit. Why? Because I’ve worked in the service industry for over two decades.

I’ve either waited tables or worked retail (usually in the food industry) since I was in my 20s. In layman’s terms, it means that the holidays ceased to exist for me starting in 1995, when I started culinary school.

I’d always loved Christmas as a kid and in college. Yet, I willingly sacrificed the holidays, because it meant I’d finally embarked upon the career path I’d long dreamt of: becoming a cooking teacher and food (and eventually, travel) writer. I naively failed to realize that decades of restaurant work, flogging farmers market produce, and slinging cheese and meat would be required to supplement my occupational pursuits.

I’ve been able to travel overseas a couple of times over the holidays, and the Christmases spent in Thailand and New Zealand were memorable from both a cultural and universal perspective. If I had the financial means, I’d always travel during the holidays. In general, however, being in the food industry means you stay at home this time of year, even if home is somewhere most people would kill to visit (I’ve been fortunate to work the holidays in Vail and Telluride).Unable to take Christmases off to see my family (they always get Thanksgiving, which is extremely important to my parents), I started going out for dim sum as a way to pass the time, stave off loneliness and get a good meal.

Dim sum parlors and Cantonese restaurants are always packed Christmas Day, with Chinese-Americans as well as diners of varying ethnic and religious persuasions. I’ve learned over the years that many people have a Christmas dim sum tradition, usually because they don’t celebrate for whatever reason (not having kids is a big one).

In my case, I’m single and childless, but that’s not why I do dim sum. Ethnically, my relatives on both sides of the family were immigrant Russian Jews, but my agnostic parents celebrated Christmas when my brother and I were growing up. To them, it was a way to unite family and allow us kids … to be kids. As a child, I never imagined Christmas and I would part ways.

As an adult, I shun Christmas not because I have to work, but for the same reasons many people do: it’s a stressful, bank account-depleting, heavily commercialized guilt-fest. I don’t miss it, although I do my best for my teenaged niece (who received a rescue kitten from me this year) and nephew.

The truth is, if I’m unable to travel, I relish having one day a year where I can have 24 hours off and not feel bad about it. I eat delicious dumplings, maybe go for a hike or see a movie. Call family and friends. It’s unabashed me-time, and until or unless I meet someone I want to create a more traditional holiday with … please pass the bao.

[Photo credit: dim sum, Flickr user Jason Hutchens; tree, Flickr user Ian.Kobylanski]

Budget Hong Kong: The Best Cheap Eats For Under US$5 A Bite

by Jessica Marati on

Tourists come to Hong Kong for a number of reasons: business, shopping, sightseeing.

Me? I came to eat.

I have long heard about Hong Kong’s famed cuisine, with its unique blend of Chinese, Western, Japanese, Southeast Asian and international influences. The city is home to dozens of celebrity chefs and boasts 62 Michelin-starred restaurants. It’s regularly called the culinary capital of Asia, if not the world.

I wasn’t interested in Hong Kong’s chichi gourmet restaurant scene, nor did I have the budget for it. Rather, I was intent on sampling the city’s dizzying array of cheap eats. Dim sum. Wonton. Noodles. Tea with medicinal properties. Bakery tarts that melt in your mouth. My mouth waters just thinking of it.

Here are some of the highlights of my Hong Kong eating extravaganza, each costing less than US$5 a serving.

%Gallery-173830%Pork Siu Mai with Quail Egg at DimDimSum Dim Sum Specialty Store
Four steaming pork dumplings, each topped with a small, perfectly boiled quail egg. It’s no wonder The Daily Beast named this small dim sum chain one of the 101 Best Places to Eat – in the world.
Cost: HK$18 (US$2.32 at US$0.13 to HK$1)
7 Tin Lok Lane, Causeway Bay

King Prawn Wonton Noodle at Tsim Chai Kee Noodle
The wontons at this Central District noodle shop contain succulent pieces of juicy king prawn. Select the yellow noodle option and spice to your heart’s content.
Cost: HK$22 (US$2.84)
98 Wellington Street, Central

Vermicelli Roll Stuffed with BBQ Pork at Tim Ho Wan
The wait at the world’s cheapest Michelin-starred restaurant is worth it: simple, home-style dim sum classics like the BBQ pork-filled vermicelli roll, prepared to perfection and drizzled in soy sauce. Though I didn’t try them, the pork buns are also said to be excellent.
Cost: HK$18 (US$2.32)
2-20 Kwong Wa Street, Mong Kok

Aloo Paratha at Waka Sweets in the Chungking Mansions
Hankering for curry? Look no further than the ground floor of the Chungking Mansions, which is filled with South Asian specialties like curries and sweets. The aloo paratha at Waka Sweets is greasy, but it hit the spot.
Cost: HK$8 (US$1.03)
Ground floor, past the first staircase on the right, Chungking Mansions, 36-44 Nathan Road, Tsim Sha Tsui

Coconut Sago at Ying Heong Yuen
This coconut milk drink with tiny tapioca beads is the perfect way to beat the Hong Kong heat. It’s available for a pittance at most street stalls, but the version at Ying Heong Yuen in Causeway Bay is particularly good.
Cost: HK$8 (US$1.03)
3-7 Cannon Street, Causeway Bay

Chrysanthemum Tea at Good Spring Company Limited
The herbal teas doled out at century-old Good Spring Company Limited are said to provide energy, eliminate bodily toxins and promote general health. The chrysanthemum tea is mildly sweet and refreshing.
Cost: HK$7 (US$0.90)
8 Cochrane Street, Central

Milk Tea at Tsui Wah Restaurant
A legacy of British colonialism, milk tea is a must-drink in Hong Kong. Tsui Wah’s is smoother than most versions and pairs well with the home-style diner’s sweet toasted bun.
Cost: HK$16 (US$2.06)
15-19 Wellington Street, Central

Egg Tart at Tai Cheong Bakery
Bakeries around the city vie for the title of best egg tart. By many accounts, including that of former British governor Chris Patten, Tai Cheong takes the cake. The secret is in the buttery cookie crust, honed over more than six decades of operation.
Cost: HK$6 (US$0.80)
35 Lyndhurst Terrace, Central

Steamed Milk with Ginger Juice at Yee Shun Milk Company
This dessert, ordered hot with ginger juice, has a consistency somewhere between warm milk and pudding. The ginger adds a spicy kick to the sweetness. It is, quite simply, one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten, with a taste that stays with you long after you leave. Though there were tons of cheap eats to try, I ended up returning for seconds.
Cost: HK$26 (US$3.35)
506 Lockhart Road, Causeway Bay

[Photo Credit: Jessica Marati]

“Budget Hong Kong” chronicles one writer’s efforts to authentically experience one of the world’s most expensive cities, while traveling on a shoestring. Read the whole series here.

Amsterdam’s Most Unusual Teacher

by David Farley on

I first heard about Lieka from her boss. He runs a tour guide company in Amsterdam. And over beers, he listed the types of tours his company offers. “There are Red Light District tours, there are food tours and there are drinking tours.”

“Oh yeah!” he said, “I also have a woman offer a workshop in giving oral sex to men.”

That’s when there was a record scratch across the heavens. Wait, what? It’s for tour groups who want to do a little something different while in Amsterdam and it’s for bachelorette parties. “It’s really quite fun,” he said. And then he mentioned the teacher was going to be stopping by his office – conveniently located next to the pub we were sitting in – and offered to introduce me.

And so, smack in the center of the Dutch metropolis and a herring’s throw from the Red Light District, where packs of guys roam to gawk at the ladies in their little booths, I met with Lieka. An attractive brunette in her mid-20s, and as long as I wouldn’t use her last name (or her photo), she kindly allowed me to interview her about her most unusual profession.Gadling: How does one become such a teacher?

Lieka: First of all, you have to have an interest in the subject matter. I studied social work and psychology and have taught sex ed before, so I felt qualified.

Gadling: Is there, like, a certificate program one can do in order to teach a class like this?

Lieka: [Laughs] No.

Gadling: So how did you prepare or study to teach the class?

Lieka: I interviewed the target group: guys! I asked them what they liked. I also talked to a few prostitutes.

Gadling: How often do you teach the class?

Lieka: It depends. But some months I’ll teach it four times.

Gadling: How do you make the students feel comfortable?

Lieka: I give them a glass of wine at the start. I tell jokes and say there’s no judgment in the class. I also let them pick their own dildos and ask them to give it a name. It’s funny to see who takes the biggest one.

Gadling: Is there a common name that keeps popping up?

Lieka: I often hear “Anaconda.”

Gadling: Have there been any injuries yet, like choking or gagging?

Lieka: [Laughs] Not yet.

Gadling: What’s a common beginners mistake?

Lieka: A lot of the women think you do it the way they do it in porn films – and this intimidates them. It’s just up and down. There’s a lot in between, too!

Gadling: Do you give homework?

Lieka: Sort of. I tell them that the next time they do it, they have to mix all the techniques. Hopefully they’ll learn.

Gadling: So no one’s returned to tell you how they made out?

Lieka: Not yet. Usually the classes are fun and are sort of a joke but once I had a group of Muslim women and it became clear that the bride-to-be had really never had sex. So she was really learning for the first time.

Gadling: Can you spot talent in the class? Is one born with such a talent or is this a skill one can acquire?

Lieka: Everyone can do it! You just have to have an interest in pleasuring the other person.

Gadling: Have any guys been in the class?

Lieka: No. But the women always suggest we offer a class to guys teaching them how to reciprocate.

Gadling: Who would teach that course?

Lieka: I would!

[Photo by David Farley]