GadlingTV’s Travel Talk – LAX to Rome in style

by Stephen Greenwood on

GadlingTV’s Travel Talk, episode 23 – Click above to watch video after the jump

Travel Talk is going international for the first time – and we’re doing it in style! Last month, we had the chance to cover Alitalia’s inaugural flight from LAX to Rome to see how the airline is reinventing itself as a private company.

On the couch, we’ll discuss national airlines and the advantages that they have over the competition, and what led to the original Alitalia’s bankruptcy. When in Rome, we’ll be sharing the classic highlights of the city as well as a few less well known points of interest – so kick back, enjoy the ride, and get ready to explore Rome!

If you have any questions or comments about Travel Talk, you can email us at talk AT gadling DOT com.

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Hosts: Aaron Murphy-Crews, Stephen Greenwood

Produced, Edited, and Directed by: Stephen Greenwood, Aaron Murphy-Crews, Drew Mylrea

My worst vacation … ever

by Gadling Staff on

Come to my lovely home in the Sierra foothills and be transformed in four days of pampering and meditation, Emelda whispered, weaving through the guests at a crowded art reception. She distributed homemade brochures and cookies laced with a delicious … herb. What a sweet person, I thought, as she moved among us in long flowing skirt with a contrasting silk blouse and large gold earrings. What deep dark magical eyes, and she had such a radiant smile. Her brightly colored brochure spoke of yoga stretches at sunrise, deep meditation at midday, delicious homecooked meals, stunning views of nature, and a gentle atmosphere of healing and laughter. Just what I needed after a hellish three months of working for a grubby nonprofit in the East Bay where political infighting had been taken to a whole new low. Beauty, inner joy, peace were promised by this brochure and her reassuring smile.

Of course, I couldn’t wait to find out more about Emelda’s wonderful retreat. The Sierra foothills were lower levels of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, she said, including towns on the border between California and Nevada. One could take the train or she could arrange a carpool. Payment was by check or credit card. About six like-minded men and women would attend. She had been doing retreats for years, she said, and was an experienced group leader, along with her husband. Bring hiking boots and warm sweaters since it will be January in the foothills.

As Emelda continued to circulate and charm during the art reception, I chatted with her husband. Lawrence said his wife was trained as what most people might call a witch, but she was more than that. She had been initiated as a shaman by some guy in Mexico, and she was a wonderful healer. Now we all know there are good witches and bad witches — we’ve seen the musical “Wicked” — but Lawrence’s reassuring smile told me there was nothing to fear. And in college I had read a Carlos Castenada book about shamans — healers trained in Latin American traditions — so the whole thing did not seem too scary.To raise money for this little vacation, I held a “garage sale” in the courtyard of my apartment building, divesting myself of paperback books, copper colanders, rhinestone bracelets, four-inch sandals — anything I hadn’t used or worn in six months. After emptying the flower pot of silver dollars in my kitchen — a gift from an admirer — I deposited everything in the credit union and wrote a check to Emelda and Lawrence.

How little I knew about what lurked in the picturesque foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Because the hostess of this retreat to hell was a bona fide witch, and may have put us under all sorts of spells, I cannot even now be certain where this all took place, not unless I go into deep trance to return to that state of mind, and I’m not willing to go there again, ever. The nearest town was miles away and downhill. Was it Auburn? Chinese Camp? Fiddletown? Placerville? Were we on the California side or the Nevada side? Will we ever know?

What I do remember is that I took the train along the California coast to my destination, and was met at the depot by others who had driven. Those of us without vehicles piled into two Land Rovers driven by Emelda and Lawrence. We drove uphill until the four-wheel drive failed. All vehicles then parked by the roadside and we trekked uphill for a mile, dragging our luggage in the warm mud. Their little abode was smaller than I anticipated, and it was clear there was no mail delivery or pizza delivery to this desolate place. Icy sleet was falling. An unsightly propane tank filled the small yard; apparently it provided heat for the wooden house. By this time everyone was hungry. Emelda said it was too late to cook, so we all ate cold porridge. I have hated porridge, hot or cold, since my childhood. However, one fierce look from her was all it took to silence me. A neighbor was waiting to surrender Emelda’s toddler son; no one had told us about the child. To spare the generator, we were shown to our sleeping area by candlelight. This was not starting out well — not at all.

Those who registered early and paid full price for the retreat received private rooms. Since I had paid sliding scale at the last minute, I slept on a floor mattress with quilts. The thermostat was turned down considerably at night so Lawrence and Emelda could save fuel. I shivered under the quilts, which smelled of dog. Turned out there was a large dog in the house, in addition to a small child. The dog barked, the child cried, and my neighbor on the other floor mattress snored. Well, so much for sleeping that first night! We did not get up at dawn for yoga stretches at sunrise as promised, because Emelda and Lawrence were having really noisy sex in the bedroom down the hall and they took a nap afterward. Slowly the rest of us found the two bathrooms and then walked into the kitchen to search out food. The cupboard was bare. We munched on stale peanuts and ripe bananas. The happy hosting couple, nicely satiated, tumbled into the kitchen after a while and announced that food was being delivered in a bit; they simply had not had time to shop before retrieving us the previous day. And Emelda had to take time to nurse Baby Jeremy before they met us at the train station. Nursing? The kid was three years old! Nonetheless, she nursed.

The two of them squabbled with abandon about the day’s schedule. Lawrence stamped out to walk the dog and Emelda nursed Baby Jeremy. The rest of us scratched our heads and looked at each other. At least the view from picture windows in two walls of the the living room was breathtaking and snow was falling everywhere. I had not seen such snow since I left the Great Lakes area. This moment proved to be a fitting metaphor for the entire four days — guests left to their own devices while the happy couple played house, contrasted with the beauty of snow falling all day long on towering evergreens, three days out of four.

Later Emelda fussed with her two ancestor altars in the family room while Lawrence brought in wood and started a fire in the fireplace. Turned out we paying guests were supposed to cook for ourselves and then wash dishes afterward. Emelda directed us in a harsh smoky voice, not at all like the dulcet tones she used at the art reception. Her hair was flying everywhere and she padded about barefoot in a midnight-blue granny gown with unleashed breasts swinging from side to side, Baby Jeremy resting on one hip. The huge Doberman jumped up and licked each of us now and then, without warning. Oh, it was grand!

Yoga stretches? Well, not exactly. Emelda read them from a book, barely giving us time to get into position, let alone stretch. And there was almost room to stretch, once we pushed eight pair of muddy hiking boots out of the way. Meditation each day was interrupted by the need to change Baby Jeremy’s diapers and nurse him, and by Emelda’s persistent cough. Would you believe she smoked cigarillos? Like a chimney! While the hosts were busy with domestic chores, we poor dupes were supposed to write affirmations. “What’s an affirmation?” one guest inquired. Emelda ignored him.

Food did reach us in this desolate place, finally: Raw potatoes, onions, cabbage, rutabagas, rice, pasta, salami, beer, Rocky Road ice cream. Lots of seasonings in the kitchen along with a large can of Crisco for cooking. Crisco — as in solid at room temperature?! OK, then. We guests made the best of it. What else could we do?

Everyone stayed inside because our hostess had a tropical personality and was not inclined toward the outdoors. In contrast, her husband was dressed in the latest Land’s End outdoor gear and seemed to enjoy the weather. After three days of claustrophobia, I broke out and ran into the snow. Three feet of good packing snow, reminiscent of a Canadian winter without the freezing temperatures. I laughed hysterically and threw myself on my back, moving my arms up and down to make snow angels. Lawrence came outside and joined me, while everyone else peered through the windows, looking puzzled by our antics. We threw snowballs at each other. When I started to build a snowman, Emelda’s outdoorsy husband went back inside to get a hat and scarf for my wintry creation. I knelt in the snow, looking for small rocks to complete the snowman’s face.

Lawrence returned from the house with hat and scarf for my snowman. He took me on a tour of evergreen trees nearby, pausing on the far side of a particularly lush tree looming overhead. “I like your energy,” he said with an inviting smile. “You looked 16 while you were lying in the snow, like you really were enjoying yourself. You know, I grew up in snow country, chopping wood, handling horses. And I love it up here. We could make love right under this tree — no problem — and no one could even see us, just a hawk overhead or a fox running across the snow. My wife and I have an open relationship. Nothing is off limits…” He was standing so close I could smell the spearmint on his breath.

Open marriage? Virility in the snow? Foxes running under my feet? Burned cabbage percolating in my intestine? Good grief! I marveled at his carefree approach to life, and his blithe disregard for his wife’s temper and shamanic powers. She might not turn him into a toad, because she wanted him, but she might not hesitate to reduce her guests to mushrooms in the snow. And what about my karma?

“So sorry, but I have to go to the bathroom now, all that cabbage for lunch!” and I rushed back to the house. I really did have to go. The turmoil he had just generated really agitated my intestines.

The other five guests, whose personalities had pretty much melted into car upholstery from the beginning, and I suffered through the last evening together. Mostly we munched popcorn in silence in front of the crackling fireplace. The next morning we donned hiking boots and trudged downhill in the snowy mud to the vehicles we had parked. Thankful to be dropped at the train depot at last, I expressed my gratitude to Emelda, whose eyes had turned dark gray with black currents running through them.

Very thankful that my train reached its destination with me alive and intact, I took a streetcar to my home. Then I examined myself for thorns in the arteries or ravens flying overhead. These days I limit my consumption of Portuguese wine at art receptions. And I really do check references on people offering workshops and retreats. One really can’t be too careful.

Jeanne Powell is the author of several books of poetry, including Word Dancing and My Own Silence, as well as works of fiction and nonfiction. Her worst vacation mishap has led her to be more cautious of following muses at art receptions. For more stories like these, visit Jeanne’s blog on Red Room.

[Photos: Flickr | Alan Vernon; Jurvetson; infowidget]

Hotels on social media: we’re trying!

by Tom Johansmeyer on

For the properties using social media, the effort seems to be paying off. Guests are using tools like Facebook to score discounted rates all over the country. This shouldn’t exactly be shocking, but since the travel industry lags other businesses, there’s a sort of novelty to the impact of promoting in these emerging online environments.

What’s interesting is that the greatest benefit may not be the booking itself, or the attendant revenue. Rather, it’s the subsequent online chest-puffing involved in telling the world you scored a great deal. Why? It’s electron-based word-of-mouth, which sends people over to the property’s Facebook page creating the potential for more clicks, bookings and braggadocio … to kick the cycle off again.

Gin class makes a splash at Food & Wine Classic in Aspen

by Laurel Miller on

I haven’t always enjoyed gin. A high school encounter with Tanqueray ensured that, for the next 15 years, the mere aroma of juniper left me retching. Then, a few years ago, I discovered a couple of small-batch distilleries that showed me gin can be delicate and floral. Suddenly, I found myself sipping G & T’s, and feeling rather decadent. There’s something about gin-with it’s Dutch, British Colonial, and speakeasy heritage-that makes it more sexy and intriguing than that other clear spirit, vodka. It’s a drink for adventurers, the legendary “Dutch Courage”
that fueled British troops during the Thirty Year War.

So it was with great interest that I attended mixologist Tony Abou-Ganim’s recent “Gin Alley: Lost Cocktails from a Bygone Era” seminar at last month’s Food & Wine Classic in Aspen. This weekend of decadence just celebrated its 28th year; the fact that it takes place in an outdoor paradise seals the deal, for me.

If you think Aspen is out of your budget, there are affordable accommodations in town, including my favorite, the St. Moritz Lodge. There even are also some great campgrounds on Maroon Creek Road-although there’s a logistical challenge after a late night. The same goes for staying in less-pricey, but inconvienient Snowmass.

If you’re attending Food & Wine, with its dozens of seminars, demos, and Grand Tastings, try to arrive a day early to acclimate; Aspen’s base is 8,000 feet, and drinking at altitude can leave you feeling like you were hit by a pile driver. You’ll want to acclimatize anyway: summer in Aspen means spectacular hiking (don’t miss the Maroon Bells; catch a bus to the trailhead from town), fly-fishing, mountain biking, climbing, riding, whitewater rafting, kayaking, and backcountry.

Getting back to gin, I’ve attended Tony’s seminars in the past, and he never disappoints, thanks in part to his down-to-earth demeanor, and engaging personality. He’s the winner of the 2007 Iron Chef America competition with Mario Batali; he also developed the bar programs at Harry Denton’s Starlight Room in San Francisco, and the Bellagio in Las Vegas. He currently runs his own consulting firm, and is the author of a new book, The Modern Mixologist: Contemporary Classic Cocktails, that draws from his love of classic, pre-Prohibition cocktails.

What’s the difference between bartending and mixology? Explains Tony, “I tend bar; we’re all bartenders in this line of work, and being a mixologist doesn’t make you a better bartender. What makes me a mixologist is my understanding and proficiency in the art and history of the cocktail. It’s not supposed to be pretentious-you want your customers to just enjoy themselves.”

Gin has a long and “checkered past,” says Tony. Bathtub gin was popular during Prohibition (because it was easy to make), and was used in anti-malarial sundowners in tropical British Colonies (it masked the taste of the quinine in the tonic water). Yet gin has been produced since the 1600’s, when the Dutch began distilling a juniper-derived medicinal spirit known as jenever (or genever). It made its way to England, where it was embraced, in part because Dutch Republic ruler William of Orange ascended the British throne during the Glorious Revolution. The resulting “Gin Craze” eventually led to general mayhem and social ills, and exorbitant tariffs were placed on gin. In the U.S., the spirt made its mark following the repeal of the Volstead Act. Says Tony, “All of the true, classic cocktails calling for a white spirit are gin-based. The earliest record I can find of a vodka-based drink is from the 1930’s.”

“Gin Alley” was held at Aspen’s super groovy, ’70’s ski-chalet-style Sky Hotel. As we were seated, we were each handed a milky, frothy Ramos Fizz. Tony’s version is slightly sweet, with a pronounced vanilla essence, and a good head of foam from the egg white. His gin preferences are Beefeater, which has a masculine, spicy profile that cuts the softness of the drink, or Bombay Sapphre. While Tony explained the history of the drink (created in New Orleans, in 1888, by Henry C. Ramos), he broke down its remaining ingredients, which include orange flower water, heavy cream, simple syrup, fresh lemon and lime juice, and a float of seltzer.

Each subsequent cocktail used another style of gin. “There are many different types of gin,” explained Tony. “There’s Dutch genever, Plymouth Gin, London Dry.” Each classification has it’s own characteristics-be it a pronounced juniper flavor; augmentation with spices and citrus, or a more feminine, subtle, flowery style. Tony’s current favorite boutique producers include Bluecoat, and Junipero.

“Think about the style of cocktail you’re making,” he advises. “I love the Negroni, but feel that a strong, junipery gin overpowers it. You want balance. That said, it’s all about your personal taste. Discovering what you like is part of the fun.” For his Corpse Reviver #2, a “hair of the dog, pick-me-up” spiked with absinthe, Lillet, and Cointreau, Tony prefers to use Tanqueray 10. This fresh, citrusy gin derives its name from the 10 different botanicals used in its production.

Tony’s favorite way to convert non-gin drinkers is with the classic Casino Cocktail, itself an adaption of the classic Aviation (it omits difficult-to-find creme de Violette). This refreshing, syrupy concoction is made with Luxardo, a dry, floral Maraschino cherry liqueur, as well as Plymouth gin, lemon juice, and orange bitters. Serve up in a coupe or martini glass, garnished with brandied Maraschino cherries (not the flourescent formaldehyde bombs).

Of course, no gin seminar would be complete without a martini. Tony shared his Iron Chef version, which uses a 4:1 ratio. Add 2 1/2 oz. of gin (whatever your preference) and 3/4 oz. of Noilly-Prat dry vermouth to a large mixing glass, with one large cube of ice. As for shaken, not stirred? “If a drink contains spirit only, stir gently until ice cold. It should be like liquid satin, not frothy.” Strain into a chilled cocktail glass, and garnish with a large Spanish olive, stuffed with Maytag Blue Cheese.

Don’t overlook the importance of ice. Says Tony, “Twenty-four-percent of a finished drink is water from diluted ice-nothing will screw up a drink faster than bad ice.” Boil bottled water, and freeze it in clean ice cube trays (the bigger, the better) free of eau de freezer funk. If you want to do your part for the environment, substitute good tap water if it’s available.

For travel, I suggest a three-piece cocktail set, which is a nifty little shaker that includes a
built-in strainer, with a removable cap that doubles as a jigger. At your destination, see if there’s a regional distillery, or shop the local farmers market for some fresh produce to add to your cocktail (think muddled basil, mint, citrus, cherries, or berries). Add ice back at your room or campsite: instant gratification.

If you want to catch Tony shaking things up, he does four seminars a year on Crystal Cruises Experiences of Discovery food and wine trips, or check his site for upcoming events. Tony is currently filming a gin documentary for IFC. Shot on location in Holland, England, Italy, and the U.S., the film will tell the story of gin’s history, ingredients, and production process, including its place in the resurgence of the classic cocktail. Release slated for later this year.

7 travel rules you should break

by Gadling Staff on

I am not what you would call a rebel. I floss nightly. I chew each bite of food at least 20 times before swallowing, for fear of choking. As a kid, I colored between the lines. In short: I obey the rules. I always have.

But lately, I’ve noticed a little rebellious streak has emerged within me, particularly in the realm of travel. I’ve realized that a lot of people like to issue travel rules. Definitive statements about what we should and shouldn’t do as travelers. And frankly, that seems silly.

Now, don’t get me wrong: if the U.S. government issues a travel warning about heading to a foreign land, I think you should listen (or, you know, at least read the warning). I don’t think that walking down dark alleys is strange cities is necessarily a good idea. But I do think that some travel rules were made to be broken. And that by doing so, you’ll actually have a better time than if you had obeyed them. Here are seven travel rules I recommend you ignore.

Rule: Never check your bag.

I’ve heard this rule repeated time and again by experienced travelers (and I’m not going to lie: I’ve said it myself a few times as well). They warn that checking your bag makes you that much more likely to lose it. Or have your stuffed damaged, stolen, or otherwise snooped through.

Still, this is a rule that is delightful to ignore. After all, checking a bag makes going through security a breeze — no need to worry about liquid restrictions, or having to lug your bag with you while simultaneously trying to remove your shoes, watch, belt, underwear, and dental fillings. Plus, checking your bag means that you’ll be able to purchase an array of items that you couldn’t otherwise pack (perfume, wine, etc). I’ll never forget the time my hubby and I didn’t buy an absolutely amazing bottle of liqueur because we didn’t want to check our bags. I still think about it, and would have gladly waited an extra 20 minutes at baggage claim to have it.


Rule: Pack light.

I once read an article in a travel magazine in which the author implored his readers to pack nothing for their next trip. Absolutely nothing. Underwear was meant to be washed in the sink. Shirts could be re-worn several times.

For me, this isn’t exactly a viable option — perhaps because “washing underwear in the hotel bathroom sink” isn’t on my vacation to-do list.And while I understand the joys of packing light, there’s something to be said about about over-packing. Having several clean outfits to choose from (and enjoying the decadence of changing your shirt twice in a day!). Swapping out comfy shoes for even comfier ones! And honestly — if you’re just going from the airport to your hotel and back, lugging a bigger suitcase isn’t that much of an inconvenience.


Rule: Avoid tourist traps.

I’m told on a daily basis how awful tourist traps are. They’re overpriced! They’re not worth it! They’re too crowded and cliche! They’re what everyone does when they visit !

While every city has it’s own fair share of tacky, touristy activities, that doesn’t mean you should avoid all of them — especially if means missing out on something you want to see. The Colosseum in Rome is always packed with tourists — but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go. Nor should you skip the Empire State Building in New York. Or the Space Needle in Seattle. Are they packed with people? Absolutely. Why? Because they’re fun and iconic and worth seeing.


Rule: Don’t talk to strangers.

Okay, I admit, this one has a bit of validity. Travelers should exercise a bit of caution. I wouldn’t randomly walk up to some suspicious-looking character and tell them the details of my life, my social security number, or which hotel I’m staying in.

But one of the most rewarding things about travel is meeting new people. If you find yourself in a safe, public place, and you’re in the mood, why not spark up a conversation? I love chatting up cabbies, restaurant workers, doormen, and countless other locals I encounter for tips on what to see and do in a city. Even if I don’t end up taking their advice, I still end up having a richer experience.


Rule: Have an agenda … or at least some clue of where you’re going.

I constantly meet super-organized travelers who put me to shame. They have every minute of their vacation organized, scheduled and planned out. They’re researched tours, purchased tickets to shows, and made reservations months in advance.

I, on the other hand, am lucky if I remembered to book a return ticket home. And that’s not always a bad thing. There’s something incredibly liberating about arriving in a foreign city with absolutely no plans whatsoever. You can pop into whatever storefronts look interesting, roam a town aimlessly for hours, and snag last-minute tickets to a show or museum exhibit you’ve never heard of. Some of my best travel experiences are born from my lack of foresight.


Rule: Don’t buy cheesy souvenirs

I had a friend, years ago, who I thought was the epitome of elegant. Her souvenirs from her travels consisted of obscure concert posters and hand-crafted jewelry that she had fiercely bartered for in the middle of busy European streets. She scoffed at mass-produced snowglobes, key-chains, and t-shirts.

While she did have a point (finding unique one-of-kind items while traveling is always fun) there’s something to be said for tacky souvenirs. They’re cheap, they put a smile on your face, and since the name is usually emblazoned across the front, there’s no question where it came from. Besides, a Leaning Tower of Pisa shot glass that actually leans? How cool is that?


Rule: Try new things.

I’ve heard time and again that trips are a time to break away from routine, to try different things, to experience a new place and culture. And while I agree with that, I also think that travel is about relaxing and having a good time — and sometimes that means doing the same thing over and over again.

If you love the chocolate croissants at your hotel’s breakfast, there’s no shame in getting them every single morning. If you absolutely adored wandering around Central Park last time you were in New York, why not go again? Yes, travel is about exploration, but it’s also about having a good time. If that means become a repeat offender at a restaurant, museum, or a hotel, then do it. You won’t regret it.

What are your favorite travel rules to break? Share your thoughts in the comments section!

[Photos: Flickr | NicolasNova; L. Marie; JonRawlinson; ElvertBarnes; Mr.Thomas; AndreaKW; StephYo]

Geraldine DeRuiter is the founder of The Everywhereist, a travel blog for the accidentally adventurous.