Intelligent Travel

Beyond the City Limits

Mid-April, I decided to visit my hometown of Seattle. Seeing as the Emerald City is in the peak of its rainy season at that time (believe it or not, the rain does stop eventually), my mom wondered why I'd ever want to visit for a week of gray drizzle. Well, I found round-trip airfare for $178 (which I ended up paying for in the end, when my MD-80 flight was canceled and I spent an extra six hours in BWI—I'm not bitter), and I knew visiting in April would allow me to see my favorite parts of the Pacific Northwest sans camera-toting tourists. Fortunately, I ended up bringing with me about 36 hours of sunshine, so my mom and I ventured out of the city.

Our first stop: Whidbey Island. About 30 miles north of Seattle is the ferry from Mukilteo (its small port has no more than a lighthouse, small market, and Ivar's restaurant—their smoked salmon chowder is to die for) to Whidbey Island.  There's not much on Whidbey, either, but that's the beauty of it. We stopped by Greenbank Farm, a 1930s berry farm on the south-central part of the island. In 1972 Greenbank was considered the largest grower of loganberries, a cross between a raspberry and blackberry, for which the farm is now famous (stop by in July for their Loganberry Festival). Unfortunately, we arrived before the farm actually opened for the day, so instead of testing some delicious loganberry products, we were instead greeted by some of the farm's furry friends (pictured left).

We continued north through Deception Pass, a 4,134-acre marine and camping park with great views and wildlife-watching opportunities. Stop your car before Deception Pass Bridge and take a walk along one of the short trails, or check out the view from the lookout on the other side (for more information, the visitor center is located about one mile south of the bridge). After leaving Whidbey Island, we continued east on Route 20 and north on 237, on a mission to make it to Edison, Washington, for lunch.

Down by the River

Contributing Editor Andrew Nelson rounds out his week-long tour of San Antonio's Fiesta with the big shebang: the River Parade.

The ambulance chasers and personal injury lawyers must love the River Walk, San Antonio's spectacularly successful network of leafy, landscaped pathways lacing its river flowing through downtown.

Few barriers, rails or poles separate pedestrians from the river. Any one can fall in. And sometimes, after a few margaritas from the many restaurants clustered along its banks, they do. I've heard they retrieve a mountain of muddy cell phones from the depths each year when they drain and clean it.

It's really unique. My hotel room at the Riverwalk Vista, a 17-room inn housed in a 19th century grocer's building, frames the river with its huge, 8-foot-tall windows. I spent more than a few minutes gazing down below at the meandering crowds and the tourist barges passing by. It's better than movies-on-demand, with nothing added to your bill at checkout.

So I'm a little nervous when my friends and I arrive at a crowded private party to view the floats at the River Parade at San Antonio's Fiesta. We're part of the 250,000-strong crowd hanging off bridges and along the promenades hoping for a glimpse of a Texas Cavalier.

What's a Texas Cavalier?  (find out after the jump...)

Heavy Medal

Contributing Editor Andrew Nelson offers us a metaphor, or perhaps medalphor, for San Antonio's Fiesta...

Wandering San Antonio during Fiesta Week you'll encounter a lot of people whose jackets, baseball caps and sashes are emblazoned with dozens of brightly colored medals making them look like walk-ons from an opera set in a 19th century Spanish military academy.

Medals are to Fiesta what beads are to Mardis Gras - currency, status symbol and collector's items. They are bartered and sold – even auctioned. One on eBay, a 1941 version, is selling for more than $299.
Other people buy them at San Antonio's official Fiesta Store, but I can't seem to figure out where it is.

San Antonian Christa Emrick was doing Fiesta with a good three dozen hanging from her sash.

"Each group will make one," she says pointing to several. "I've got one from a military organization, an AIDS group, and a German group. You can even make your own," she said fingering an elaborate one set with greenish stones. "This is one I did." The San Antonio Express has a great roundup of all the different kinds.

It's one of the niftiest elements of Fiesta in that anyone can make something and join in the fun. Sure, there's a big social scene – I saw one "king" and his "court" of debutantes roll by in a police-escorted motorcade of gas-guzzling Cadillac Escalades. (No one in that kingdom got the memo about going Green, apparently.) Yet the official Fiesta appears much more accessible in its way than, say, the secret krewes of New Orleans with their exclusive balls, open only to a small group of rich families. That may be because San Antonio is optimistic about its future and remains vibrant economically. Dynamic cities tend to steamroll hidebound customs - but something changing as fast as San Antonio has a real need to keep traditions if only as an anchor in times of great change. So when they pin a medal on you at Fiesta, they're actually helping to pin down the past, securing it in a city that is speeding headlong into to the future.

For more information about Fiesta visit www.fiesta-sa.org. For visiting San Antonio head to www.visitsanantonio.com.

Photo: Andrew Nelson

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Highbrows and Humidity

The cloistered campus of the Southwest School of Art & Craft in downtown San Antonio is a far cry from the raucous, Rabelaisian crowd that attended the Fiesta Oyster Bake on the city's west side. Here, set amidst 1851-era limestone buildings, the flesh is mostly covered, more apt to display Ralph Lauren polo ponies than tattoos. The art on display is highbrow, but the humidity's even higher - it is hot today - so people are lingering in the cool shade of the oak-shaded courtyards where fountains splash, just as the Ursuline nuns must have done when this was their convent 150 years ago. Today's event is the 35th annual art fair, and the artists are of a national caliber – spread out inside the complex in bright tents that display their oil paintings, ceramics and sculpture. The fair's getting crowded.  I'm worried someone might elbow a glass vase (the prices here aren't cheap) and be out a few grand.

No one cares. The 12,000 or so participants are all too busy gabbing with friends, sipping drinks and tapping their feet to the music of the Sisters Morales, a pair of soulful singer-songwriters up on a stage between a pair of French-colonial-styled buildings. The folkies are pumping out a catchy Spanish ballad that the crowd adores.

"They say Austin's got the 'cool'," someone says, "but San Antonio's got the soul."

And, it seems, few travelers know about it. Fiesta is a big deal in the city, of course, and throughout Texas, but it is nowhere near as popular – nor as overrun – as Mardis Gras. It's local, it's neighborhood and it's authentic.

NYC with Teens

Traveling with tweens and teens to New York? Senior editor Norie Quintos shares some tips and tricks from a recent trip to the Big Apple with her 12- and 14-year-old sons.

Limit the number of museums and choose them carefully. Just because there are dozens of world-class museums in the city doesn’t mean you have to see them all. Whiny teens are worse than whiny toddlers. I’d read about a temporary exhibit at the Guggenheim by the Chinese artist Cai Guo-Qiang, who worked with exploding gunpowder and cars hanging from the ceilings. Bingo. We hit the museum on Friday evening, when admission was pay what you want (I noticed most New Yorkers weren’t paying anything, so we didn’t either.)

Central Park is good for any age. Try to go with a plan, say, to catch the remote-controlled sailboats in the Conservatory Water or skate dancers in the Bandshell. Because my kids are Beatles fans, we went on a John Lennon pilgrimage to Strawberry Fields and the Imagine mosaic, then walked over to the Dakota building where the singer was shot. Plan your visit with the interactive map of Central Park.

Do something active. We walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, a leisurely 45-minute stroll. It’s one of the world’s most iconic spans and there is a separate path for walkers and bikers, so you aren’t inhaling car fumes. You can view the Statue of Liberty from here. Tips: To avoid constantly craning your neck looking back at the incomparable Manhattan skyline, take the subway to Brooklyn and walk towards Manhattan. Also, be sure to stay off the bikers’ lane, lest you get clipped or cursed at by speeding cyclists.

The Luck of the Suck

Contributing editor Andrew Nelson is in San Antonio this week celebrating Fiesta, and he'll be sending us dispatches from the road all this week.

How hard is it to eat a Texas-sized bucket of baked oysters? Really hard, I'm discovering. Each mollusk is the size of your fist, shut tighter than Area 51, they mock my feeble efforts to pry them apart.

I'm at the 92nd annual Oyster Bake, one of the kick-off events Fiesta San Antonio, a ten-day-long party that is to the Texas city what Mardis Gras is to New Orleans: colorful parades and raucous revelry marked by too much food, too much drink and way, way too much fun.

Around me swirl many of the 70,000 people who will pour into the campus of St. Mary's University on the city's west side, home of one of the USA's oldest and proudest Mexican communities.  Tonight San Antonians of all backgrounds are going to drink, dance, listen to Tejano and rock and roll, and wolf down entire beds of shellfish. This is their party, and San Antonio, unlike Louisiana's Crescent City, appears to have kept the fun to themselves. Few travelers outside of Texas it seems have heard of Fiesta. But while it's on, America's seventh largest city can think of little else.

Fiesta San Antonio began in 1891 as a way to honor the battles of the Alamo and San Jacinto. It's evolved into 100 different events, which include over-the-top balls held by San Antonio's Old School Old Money elites, spectacular parades and satirical mockery of pretense in a counter-cultural Fiesta Cornyation. Here's a guide to the whole shebang.

A Colonial America Trifecta

A very special out-of-town friend and I were having a hard time deciding what to do with our lone weekend we would have together while he was in D.C. I just moved here from the Kansas City area, and he was on a short leave from his teaching job in France. Our limited knowledge of attractions within driving distance left us with an empty Saturday slate. We did, however, agree on the general theme: History.

I suggested Williamsburg; my mom had often told me about the "magical" Thanksgiving experience she had there when she was in her 20s. Jamestown piqued both our interests, although neither of us knew how much there was to do there to full up an entire day. My friend thought Yorktown and its battlefields could be interesting. Or we could head north to Gettysburg and see where President Lincoln delivered his resonating "Four score and seven years ago…" speech.

Being that I work within the National Geographic Society, I have access to many a map. I decided to do a wild thing and actually look at the placement of these cities before any "planning" went any further. Lo and behold, Jamestown, Yorktown, and Williamsburg are all within an hour's drive of each other. No decision had to be made, which was perfect for my indecisive self and my nonchalant pal. Minus Gettysburg, we could do it all!

We started out that morning a little later than anticipated, but by 10 a.m., we were on the road. The wet, slippery road. But we weren’t going to let the torrential rain deter us. We were determined to see the shores where America was born, come rain or shine. And we did.

What a Mush!

Associate Editor Amy Alipio teaches us all how to mush...

When I was in Churchill, Manitoba, last October, I went on a dogsledding excursion run by Dave Daley of Wapusk Adventures, which gave us a tiny but thrilling taste of what it’s like to be pulled by a pack of dogs who love to run. As soon as we entered Daley’s yard, the dogs—sensing that they were going to be running soon—started leaping straight up into the air like they had rocket blasters under their paws.

But for the real, blood-sweat-and-tears version of dogsledding, there’s the annual Hudson Bay Quest. The HBQ, founded by Daley and friend Gerald Azure five years ago, is a 400-kilometer (248-mile) dog-sled race between Churchill and Arviat, in Nunavut. Designed as a test of self-sufficiency, racers must carry their own supplies and food for the duration of the race. This year, 20 mushers will set off March 29 with their dog teams across the frozen, often windy, and snowy tundra bordering Hudson Bay, prepared to face temperatures stuck in the minus 20s Fahrenheit. I spoke to Daley to get the lowdown before the race.

How is the Hudson Bay Quest different from other dog-sled races, like the famous Iditarod?

Well one thing is that we let the Inuit racers race with their traditional sleds and fan hitches. In a fan hitch, the dogs are each attached to the sled by their own line, in a fan formation. The more typical hitch system, used in the Iditarod and Yukon Quest races, is the gangline, where dogs are attached to one single line, usually in pairs.

What inspired you to found the race?

Living in a remote community, we do watch the famous dog-sled races, and we wanted to have our own Iditarod or Yukon Quest. I’m a Métis, and I saw it as a chance to get together the aboriginals of the north  and revitalize traditional northern dog sledding. It’s not as long a race as the Iditarod but it’s pretty grueling. Every year so far we’ve had a blizzard at some point during the race. When I started, there were four teams out of Nunavut; this year there are 12. A lot of guys that hadn’t raced in awhile are getting back into it, and young people, a new generation of dogsledders, have sprung up. This is our opportunity to showcase our northern racers, although we do invite teams from the south. We have a lot of repeat racers too. Every year the race has become more and more popular.

Behind the Lens: Photo Tips from Dan

Senior Photo Editor Dan Westergren oversees the photographic vision of Traveler magazine, but when he himself is taking the shots, it's often hard for him to know what will work best. We asked Dan to offer up some blog-worthy tutorials, and are already making the most of his advice.

Sometimes the best photo is the easiest to take.

While working on a story called "Norway Hut to Hut", I had been struggling all day, backpacking out of a steep valley to a mountain plateau in Norway's Jotunheimen National Park. The scenery was stunning and I had been busy following a family of fellow travelers up the trail. I was desperate to capture the perfect juxtaposition between the trail, the valley walls, and the river below. I would rush ahead, shoot photos, lag behind, take more pictures, then hike as fast as I could to catch up again. I was expending twice the energy of anyone else in order to capture on film this place and activity.

Finally, I arrived at the hut which was to be our home for the night. Exhausted, I collapsed in a chair, setting down my camera bag on the floor next to me. I was thinking about all the great photos that were sure to be the result of all the hard work I had done that day. Then, I looked up from my soft chair and saw this amazing scene. Since I was finished working for the day, it took me a moment to realize that here was the scene I needed to tell the story of this trip. I simply reached down without moving from my chair, grabbed a camera and took two or three frames. It was the easiest photo I had taken all week. When we laid out the pictures for the magazine, this photo was printed across two pages as the opener for the story.

National Geographic Traveler celebrates photography, and encourages you to let us see your own best shots. Check out our Photography Tips, attend a Photo Seminar, and add your photos to our ever-growing Flickr pool.

Photo: Dan Westergren; featured in the May/June 2004 issue of Traveler.

Been There: Becoming a Fan

I'm just back from a blissful trip to Baja Mexico, where I got to check off many of items on the Cabo must-see list: getting a glimpse of gray whales, soaking up some sun, and exploring the many deserted beaches along the Pacific coast. But one of my favorite nights was spent in the bleachers in San Jose del Cabo, the smaller, artsy town to the east of Cabo San Lucas, where my boyfriend, Tim (a soccer obsessee), and I took in a local semi-pro game. We watched as the blue-and-white clad Los Cabos Delfines home team took on Guadaljara Chivas, a national favorite with a huge fan base, clearly represented by the blue-and-red bedecked fans crowding the stadium. (For the record, that would be the Dolphins vs. the Goats for those of you heavily into mascots, and you can see pics from the game here).

Tucked in between Mexican families banging their inflated clackers, we stepped outside of our tourist identities for a while and became simply fans. I have to admit I spent as much time taking in the crowd as I did the game (though I was usually called back to attention when the crowds chanted "Burro!" at the goalies). It felt foreign yet familiar at the same time—particularly when a man showed up as the sun was setting to begin selling light sabres to kids in the crowd.

When Tim studied abroad in Europe, he always tried to take in a soccer game in whatever city he visited, usually buying the scarf of the home team to help him blend in with the locals (which often have a tendency of getting rowdy with fans from opposing teams). And for a long time I attributed his soccer stops merely to his tenacity as a fan. But as I watched the crowd leap to their feet as the Delfines won the game, I realized that it's a tremendous way to get a glimpse of authentic culture. From the food at the concession stands to the chatter of the crowds, it's a quick way to feel like you belong, no matter where you are.

Do you plan your trips around baseball season? Run marathons on different continents? How do sports factor into your travels? Let us know in the comments below.

Photos: Above, Delfines de Los Cabos Futbol Club; below, Janelle Nanos

Found in Translation

When we got this in our inbox from contributing editor Daisann McLane, we were just as smitten as she was...

Two weeks ago, an email from an unfamiliar address showed up in my box with an eye-catching header: "From Michael Zhang, Translator of Many of Your Articles."

I opened the email excitedly. This was a mystery I've been puzzling over for more than two years. National Geographic Traveler has a partner in mainland China called Trends—they put out a Chinese-language version of our magazine that has become one of the most widely-read travel magazines on the mainland.

"My wife and I have never been outside of mainland China," Michael wrote. "But we are coming down to Hong Kong for a few days on vacation, and it would be wonderful to meet the person whose travelogues I have been translating all these years."

Here in Hong Kong, I'm always thrilled when I see NG Traveler-Trends on the newsstand right next to the English-language edition. It reminds me that the words I write every month in the "Real Travel" column reach a more diverse readership than I can even imagine.

And the Chinese character headlines on the cover of this sister Traveler also brings home the reality that very soon, the largest percentage of the world's tourists are going to be from China. The future of tourism, sustainable and otherwise, is going to be shaped by this nation of new travelers.

Behind the Lens: Paris' Deyrolle Taxidermy Shop

We were saddened when we heard that the beloved Paris taxidermy shop Deyrolle caught fire earlier this month. The ground floor garden shop has reopened, but the taxidermy gallery upstairs was badly damaged and hopes to reopen later this year. Photographer Catherine Karnow shot the shop for the "Authentic Paris" cover story and was shocked to hear the tragic news. "It's not like it was some fusty-musty old place," Karnow told us. "This is a main, prominently standing building in the middle of a thriving, well-heeled neighborhood, and it seemed to be professionally run and smartly handled. The last time I saw it, the place was bubbling with life and vigor."

Just for IT readers, she recounts the unexpected experience she had while on the assignment there this past fall. Check out her photographs here and in the March issue of Traveler, now on newsstands.

Prince Louis-Albert de Broglie in the Deyrolle Taxidermy Shop in Paris, by Catherine Karnow

On the way to the Pont Neuf to shoot dusk, I walked past a store whose window display I had shot a few days earlier. (I had photographed some stuffed deer "wearing" red aprons). Oddly, the shop was open, though it was after six p.m., and they were having an art opening. The store turned out to be one of the oddest places in all of Paris.

The taxidermy shop, Deyrolle, is on the second floor and owned by the Prince Louis-Albert de Broglie. But I did not yet know this when I asked if I could shoot the art opening; as it alone seemed like a lively event to cover. I asked for permission to photograph and the director was called down. He politely informed me that they never, ever allow a single photograph to be taken in their store. I said thank you very much anyway, and turned to leave. “But,” he said, “let me show you the upstairs; I think you will enjoy seeing it.” No, no, I said, I have a feeling it will be too tempting to shoot, so I think I had better just go right now. I added that I had an important photograph to take nearby. “Not yet,” he said, “I have an idea. Please follow me.”

As I came up the stairs, my jaw dropped. I came into the first of a series of high ceiling rooms with chandeliers and stately windows, walls painted a matte green. Everywhere I looked there were animals: huge stuffed lions and leopards; a full-size zebra standing awkwardly next to the door; plump geese, miniature donkeys, a gigantic water buffalo; eagles and hawks swooping down from the ceiling; glass cases of songbirds perched on branches and trays of moths, butterflies and shiny scarabs, fossils and rocks, and so on.

Bay Area Food Finds

Contributing Editor Andrew Nelson just stopped by Northern California and raved to us about the food. Though slightly jealous (is it possible to find a good burrito on the East Coast?) we were eager to hear more...

When it comes to food, Northern California keeps stirring the pot. For travelers there's always something to sample. New restaurants open constantly. Others await to be sampled. Two taste sensations include one in San Francisco's edgy Mission District and a five-month-old arrival in Wine Country.

El Metate, the Mission, San Francisco

Get ready to rock. El Metate features San Francisco's legendary burritos — a $5 meal-and-a-half — stuffed with pork, chicken, fish, beans, and rice, and, for a dollar extra, slathered with guacamole, cheese, and sour cream. Their tacos are made with corn tortillas and filled with tangy chicken or fresh fish, all topped with fresh cilantro. El Metate is where the city's chefs go on their off hours for the restaurant's legendary chile verde pork burrito. Wash it down with a Mexican Coke (sweetened with cane sugar, unlike the American version, which is flavored with high fructose corn syrup). El Metate's decor is a cut above the city's typical taquerias, as the Tuscan-orange walls and simple wood chairs gives it a warm Mediterranean feel. The restaurant's located on Bryant Street between 22nd and 23rd Streets in the Mission, the city's traditional Mexican neighborhood. While you're waiting for your order, quiz your fellow travelers on the meaning of "metate." Hint: it's the traditional grinding stone used to crush corn into masa, used in making tortillas. (2406 Bryant St; +1 415 641 7209)

Ubuntu, Napa, Napa County

The puzzled tourist peered into the stone building on Napa's Main Street. She eyed the large community dining table made from salvaged lumber and the people leaving an ashtanga class. "What the hell is it?" she asked her friends. "A restaurant or a yoga studio?" The answer is both.  "Ubuntu's a vegetarian restaurant with a yoga studio in the back," San Francisco Magazine food critic Scott Hocker told IT. With no meat to balance the plate, the legumes have to stand on their own merits. According to Hocker, Ubuntu succeeds. "Head chef, Jeremy Fox is wildly talented. He's doing vegetable cooking with a brain," he says. "That's the trick with this kind of stuff - each element has to be a precise." Hocker recommends the starter marcona almonds with sea salt and lavender sugar and the salt-roasted beets and avocado for the "amped up flavors." Other taste sensations on the changing menu include the wild-nettle pizza, and cauliflower cooked in a cast-iron pot with vadouvan spice and brown butter toast. A lengthy wine list complements the meal. (1140 Main St., Napa, CA; +1 707 251 5656).

Photo: Ubuntu Restaurant

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Walking Taiwan

On the first of this year, National Geographic researcher Jeff Chen set off on a walk across the East Coast of Taiwan, an exploration he's calling A Walk on my Ethnic Lines, to explore his multi-ethnic identity. For 260 miles over the span of three weeks, he's been filming, photographing, audio recording and blogging his journey to explore the other half of his ethnicity. We asked him to write up a bit about his trip so far.

It's 4:10 a.m., and we have to go pray. I'm not cut out for monastery life.

For the past two nights, my longtime friend and I have been sleeping at a Buddhist monastery on the East Coast of Taiwan, eating vegetarian food, shoveling cement, making chocolate candies, and mopping the temple floor.

I'm here on a self-administered project I've decided to call A Walk on my Ethnic Lines. This exploration of my ethnic identity has been bubbling around in the depths of my gut for some years now, so when the opportunity came for me to fly to Taiwan this winter, I took it.

It's not the first time I've been here, but it is the first time I've been here with a critical eye on the half of me who is formed on this island. My other half, I would argue, is something along the lines of White American.

I started walking a week ago more than a hundred kilometers north of where I am now. My travel plans were to walk south and meet people. I've hitched a couple of rides and taken a short train ride, but they were all either tangential to meeting people or for the sake of convenience to some of my hosts. I've slept by train tracks and staked a tent near waterfalls. Today is the start of the second segment of our walk – 150 km to Taitung, a comparatively larger city than what we've seen so far.

The Damn in Amsterdam: Cabbies and Cowboys

Contributing writer Cathy Healy isn't completely smitten with all things Amsterdam. After wrangling with the taxis in the city, she was happy to report that some changes are in the works.

For about five years, Amsterdam has offered a version of taxi freedom that borders on anarchy: You can take any cab you want in the taxi line, but cabbies don’t have to accept you as a customer, and often they don’t.

The Amsterdam Municipal Council is sauntering to the rescue. As of March 1, 2008—well in time for tulips and tourists—only “quality taxis” with a permit and qualified drivers who know the city will be allowed to carry passengers from the Central Train Station. The Council will decide later whether to also insist on quality taxis at Rembrandt and Lidese squares, which are popular gathering places.

In the meantime, be prepared to find legit cabbies and their “cowboy” counterparts at the train station. This means you’ll stagger off the train from the airport after an all-night flight, carrying too much luggage, and find two lines of cabs and a pack of guys hanging around talking.  If you’re not a 30-40 euro customer, they’ll pretend they don’t know the street where your hotel is, even if it is one of the main canal streets in central Amsterdam.

Don’t despair. Look for a TCA cab. This company is the oldest and the biggest in the city, and– get this – they actually will accept an 11 euro fare (for about an 11-minute ride.)

My driver, Vincent, explained about cabbies and “cowboys” – his phrase. Vincent also warned that base rates vary, so always look in the lower left-hand corner of the windshield where rates must be posted. The meter starts anywhere from 3.80 euros (TCA) to 4.20 euros (the cowboys).

Personally, I'm looking forward to March.

Photo: Stefan Baak

Sinterklaas and Santa Claus: An Ocean Apart

Contributing writer Cathy Healy was in Amsterdam this year to see some of the festivities that surround the arrival of Sinterklaas - or the Dutch Santa Claus.

If you’re naughty, not nice in the Netherlands, Santa’s helpers will stuff you in a sack and take you back to Spain. This is a threat? A free trip to Spain in December! But why Spain, I wonder? The real St. Nicholas was a bishop in Turkey and his bones are buried in Italy. A holdover from when Spain ruled Holland, during the Elizabethan era? But that’s another mystery to search out.

Today's mystery lies in the Sinterklaas traditions, experiencing which, on a scale of 0-10, hovers around 7 for culture sleuths. If Sinter and Santa started out as the same saint, how did they end up so different?

Sinter is welcomed to Amsterdam in mid-November, before our Thanksgiving, and leaves on his birthday, December 6, after his helpers have spent the night, climbing down chimneys to leave gifts. The Dutch separate Sinterklaas and gifts from Christmas and Christ. (I like that. Why should we bundle everything into one single day?)

My Dutch friends think they have the answer. They believe that Santa Claus was created by Coca-Cola, while Sint was a real man who is widely emulated for his gift-giving. Coca-Cola? Nope, that’s an urban legend, I tell them. They laugh and we sip our hot chocolates. It is December 3 and we're at Corlaer College near Nijkerk, where a crowd of good little boys and girls of the staff are greeting Sinterklaas and his helpers, who are called Black Piets. We’re fascinated.

The Rose of New England

I spent last week in Norwich, Connecticut visiting my sister, niece, and nephew. I soon learned that Norwich often lives in the shadow of its more glamorous neighbor, Mystic, about 30 minutes to the south. And though my two-year-old niece adores the belugas at the Mystic Aquarium, my sister and I were hoping for activities a little closer to home. 

Norwich, long known as the "Rose of New England," has its own unique history to offer the visitor. Here is where the Yantic and Shetucket rivers combine to form the Thames (locals pronounce it Thaymes). Most people might know the town for its proximity to the Mohegan Sun casino. But even if you're just in town to play the slots, a visit isn't complete without delving a little deeper into Norwich's rich Native American and Colonial history: Two notable tribal chiefs are buried here, and Benedict Arnold was born in town.

No Country for Cold Men

Traveler Contributing Editor Andrew Nelson is home in Texas for the holidays, and offers up a round of new restaurants for those of you planning to visit the area (or him) this season.

In the Big Bend of Texas winter clarifies the night sky, turning the stars to blazing diamonds. To keep warm, residents gather around fire pits filled with mesquite logs, exchanging shots of fiery sotol and gossip. This December the sotol's as potent as always, but the talk is about two just-released movies filmed here. "No Country For Old Men" and "There Will Be Blood" use the romantic, empty land as both character and canvas. Travelers wandering the region will find spiritual nourishment in the region's beauty. But physical nourishment is also needed. Luckily the region is welcoming three new additions.

South of the Union Pacific railroad tracks on Murphy Street in Alpine's historic adobe neighborhood is Texas Fusion BBQ (200 W. Murphy St.; +1 432 837 1214). A classic barbecue joint run by Mark Scott, the Fusion's surrounded by parking spaces wide enough for your Ford F350 (a popular pick up). Diners can sit down or take out mounds of smoky pulled pork heaped on bbq sandwiches. And don't forget the sweet tea. Many locals agree with longtime rancher Ted Gray.

"That boy's got the best food in town,"  says the respected 84-year-old.

Tourists Riot! "We Were Forced to Shop!"

There's nothing worse than discovering your tour is just a series of pit stops on the Souvenir Express. But unfortunately your options are primarily limited to staying on board until journey's end, or forfeiting your cash and detaching yourself, unsure of how exactly you'll get home. But some Chinese tourists have had enough. Traveler columnist Daisann McLane sends along this report from China:

Yes, tourists really are rioting in China. The booming economy has created a huge market for low-end travel among Chinese from the working classes. And that's created a new shady economy of unscrupulous low-end tour dealers. They offer packages at unbelievably low prices, like three days in Macau, all-inclusive for $60. It's only after you get on the bus--and these tours are always on a bus--that you discover you've signed on for more than you expected. And that the "sights" you'll be seeing are mostly the insides of shops where shoddy goods are sold for many more times than they are worth. That's how the dealers make their profit on these cut-rate tour packages.

The Chinese tourist on one of these scam-o-tours finds him or herself practically a prisoner of the tour company from hell. But one group of tourists from Henan province rose up in anger, and decided they couldn't take it anymore. Here's a dispatch from Hong Kong RTHK radio:

The authorities in Macau have defended the deployment of riot police, to mediate a dispute between a large group of mainland tourists and their guides. About 100 members of the tour group from Hebei returned to the mainland this morning, but two men and three women accused of assaulting police officers remain in custody. Scuffles broke out last night between the police and the tourists, who were angry at allegedly being overcharged, abandoned, and forced to shop by their Macau tour guides.

Is this the future of (un)sustainable tourism?

Climb Inside Amsterdam

When Intelligent Travel contributing writer Cathy Healy decided it was time to divulge her favorite hotel—and hotelier—in Amsterdam, we leaped at hearing the scoop...

Long, lanky Mark Bakker is dangling out of the window of my room, helping hang the repainted Hotel Prinsenhof sign. I'm in the south-facing breakfast room with its wall of windows bright with silvery November light. Do I look like a Vermeer painting as I read my e-mail? 

The rippled glass in the tall panes of the hotel windows are from the 1820s. Vermeers hang in the Rijksmuseum, alongside the Rembrandts and other Dutch masters, about a ten-minute walk to the left. The Van Gogh Museum is three minutes beyond. The Amstel River flows two minutes to the right. Straight ahead, across the Prinsen Canal (Prinsengracht), is Rembrandt Square, a heart in a multi-hearted city that is a masterwork itself.

A former radio journalist, Mark is my interpreter of Amsterdam and the Dutch. He is the manager of the one-star hotel which has ten rooms, some of which overlook the canal, some with bathrooms down the hall. I have a canal view and a bathroom in my room. Price: 84 Euros.

"Today" with Keith Bellows

This morning, as part of NBC's week-long promotion to go green, National Geographic Traveler Editor-in-Chief Keith Bellows appeared with Al Roker on the Today show to discuss the November/December cover feature, "Places Rated: The World's Best Islands." Al was interested in hearing more about the integrity of popular tourist destinations Phuket, Molokai, and Key West, but we suggest picking up the issue to get Geotourism Editor Jonathan B. Tourtellot's complete list to learn how some of the world's most beautiful places are faring.

Click below to watch the video:

The Tallest Threefoot Building in Town

Our dear friend and contributing editor Andrew Nelson paused his travels for a moment to send us another great postcard from the road (literally this time).

It seems totally incongruous, but travelers barreling down Mississippi's Interstate 20/59 will see a glorious art deco tower rising over the town of Meridian (pop. 40,000). The skyscraper, with its geometric lines and colorful terra cotta tile facade, is worthy of New York or Chicago. How did all this tower of Jazz Age power end up in a sleepy part of deep Dixie? The story's interesting:

The 16-story brick structure is named the Threefoot Building after the Threefoot family, local Jewish-German merchants originally named Dreyfuss - "three feet" in German. The building, planned during the Roaring 20s economic boom, was finished in 1929, shortly before stock market crash. Though the Great Depression savaged the family's business, the Threefoot has stayed the town's tallest building. Plans are now underway for a New Orleans developer to restore the structure as an upscale hotel.

 

Take Me Out to the...Museum?

Today's postcard from contributing editor Andrew Nelson offers more of America's pastime for those of you not already exhausted from the World Series:

With the World Series all wrapped up, baseball fanatics who like to roam may want to head south to the National World War II Museum (945 Magazine St.; +1 504 527 6012) in New Orleans. Devoted to America's experience during WWII, the museum, which showcases the battles for Europe and the Pacific as well as life on the home front, is hosting a new exhibit and a conference exploring the role baseball played for the Greatest Generation.  The 3-day conference and ongoing exhibit, "Duty, Honor, Country: When Baseball Went to War" begins November 9th. Attending will be World War II veterans and former major leaguers Bob Feller, Dom DiMaggio, Jerry Coleman and Lou Brissie along with baseball historian Todd Anton, major league pitcher Curt Schilling and manager Tommy Lasorda. While there, check out the restored C-47 dangling from the rafters. The plane, purchased on eBay, dropped parachuting soldiers onto Nazi-occupied France during the D-Day invasions.

Striking "Gold" in the Cresent City

Today's postcard from contributing editor Andrew Nelson leaves us longing for something shiny:

New Orleans' onetime U.S. Mint (400 Esplanade; 800 568 6968) has struck gold again, only this time it's a special exhibit devoted to the precious metal. "Gold," which opened this month, marks the Mint's grand reopening, having been closed since Hurricane Katrina peeled back the building's copper roof, allowing rain to damage the interior. Located in the French Quarter, the Mint was built under President Andrew Jackson. It operated until 1909, and later became part of Louisiana's State Museum. The exhibit documents the use of the metal and its place in the human psyche. Objects include jewelery from Cartier and Tiffany's and the gold cigar box of King Farouk of Egypt.

"The coolest artifact for me is the Eureka Bar," says director of exhibits Sam Rykels. "It's an 88-pound gold bar, but looks like an oversize brick. It's the last bar from the California gold rush. It was lost in a shipwreck and recovered recently."

Photo: The Louisiana State Museum

Inside Lincoln's Cottage

Last week, IT got a sneak peek at the country's newest National Monument, Lincoln's Cottage, which is in the midst of a $15 million restoration funded by the National Trust for Historic Preservation (NTHP). Just three miles north of the White House, it was the summer residence for Lincoln and his family, and, historians surmise, the place where he first penned the Emancipation Proclamation.

The site consists of two buildings: the 34-room Cottage, where Lincoln resided, and the Robert H. Smith Visitor Education Center, which will feature a signed copy of the Emancipation Proclamation at the opening of the museum. It is the first "green" renovation project that NTHP has undertaken, with a Silver LEED certification pending, and while it is still very much underway (we had to interrupt the workmen sanding the floors during our tour), the folks at the Trust promise that the restoration will be complete this February for its President's Day opening (naturally). It's sure to become a mecca for Lincoln admirers worldwide.

New Orleans' Haus Party

Perhaps we've got beer on the brain this week, but our ever-wandering contributing editor Andrew Nelson reports that one haven for stein-guzzlers in New Orleans may be in jeopardy:

Hurricane Katrina destroyed many historic structures in New Orleans, but the latest storm brewing in the city is over a new hospital that's threatening yet another classic landmark. For eight decades the Deutsches Haus (200 South Galvez St.; +1 504 522 8014) has been the site of many an Oktoberfest in its classic beer garden—a tradition in the Crescent City that's been going on at least as long as the Mardi Gras celebrations. "The beer gardens were big in New Orleans when German immigrants first arrived here in the 1830s," says Alecia Long, a historian with Louisiana State University (LSU). "The Deutsches Haus is the last survivor of a very nice, family-oriented custom."

The Haus, which has been at its current site in the Mid-City neighborhood since 1928 and underwent a painstaking restoration after Katrina, is now being threatened by demolition by a new LSU and Veterans Administration medical complex. The 475 members of the Haus are working to ensure the city's German culture is protected; they aren't opposed to the complex, but hope a compromise can be found before another piece of authentic New Orleans vanishes in the winds of change. Visitors should hurry. The last weekend of the Oktoberfest is this Friday and Saturday night (October 26-27th).

Check out here for more on New Orleans culinary comeback from Katrina, and here for more great places to see when you're in town.

Photos: Courtesy of the Deutsches Haus

Microbrew Pilgrimage

And now a word from Traveler's production manager and resident beer connoisseur, David Burneston, who's just back from the 16th annual Great Eastern Invitational Microbrewery Festival, hosted by Stoudts Brewing Company in Adamstown, Pennsylvania:

"Every year Stoudts invites a dozen or so other microbreweries to come together and show off their craft beers to a bunch of beer geeks. This has become an annual event for me, my brother-in-law John, his two brothers Jeff and Jerry, and our longtime friend Al. We’ve been going to the festival for ten years now, sampling some of the best beers I’ve ever tasted. And now a second generation has joined us: John’s son Paul, whom we quickly introduced to the art of tasting—not just drinking. We do drink our share though.

With taste glass in hand and a list of breweries ranging from Dogfish Head Craft Brewery of Milton, Delaware, to Magic Hat Brewing Co. of S. Burlington, Vermont, we ambled through the hall trying the stouts, lagers, bocks, IPAs (India Pale Ales), and pilsners, with names like Belgian Freeze, Loose Cannon, Circus Boy, Mai-Bock, and HopDevil. The brews tasted even better paired with the dinner served at the fest—'The Best of the Wurst'—which featured authentic German sausages, cabbage, sauerkraut, potato salad, and homemade beer bread."

We were intrigued by the idea of beer bread, so we made a call to Stoudts to learn a bit more. Ed Stoudt’s daughter, Carey Matson, was happy to share her knowledge:

A Nightclub with a Worldview

Our intrepid contributing editor Andrew Nelson is just back from a trip to Turkey, and he sends us this report from the 360 Istanbul Restaurant, a nightclub with its own worldview.

With jaw-dropping vistas of two continents, the Golden Horn and enormous, illuminated mosques, the club/restaurant 360 Istanbul (Istiklal Caddesi Misir Apt. No. 311 K. 8; 0212 251-1042-43) makes a good place to end your day in Turkeys' largest, most cosmopolitan city.

Home (Away From) Home on the Range

A beach-and-theme-park vacation is much too tame for resident family travel expert Norie Quintos. This year, for part of her summer vacation with her two sons, she headed out to Wyoming:

What parent hasn’t read the Dangerous Book for Boys? Okay, I haven’t, but I’ve read all about it. Here’s the gist: What our overprotected, over-teched, overscheduled suburban sons really need to blossom is the freedom to climb trees and get muddy and learn Morse code. Well, I’ve believed and lived it all along, and the kids and I recently returned from a vacation that hits the spirit if not the actual suggestions on the book’s list.

We squished our toes in the mud of a creek.
We fed leftovers to a black lab named Twister.
We threw tomahawks.
We played cards.
We heard cowboy poetry.
We canoed in a lake with loons.
We fell asleep to the howls of a coyote.
We threw lassos.
We read by the light of a lantern.
We searched for signs of bear.
We whittled.
We absorbed U.S. history by listening to a cowboy tell tales of Butch Cassidy, Wyatt Earp, and the Donner Party around a campfire at night.
We traveled by covered wagon.

IT's Fishy

As much as we like food, IT tries to stay healthy. Each day for lunch, Jessie sticks to vegetarian concoctions of chickpeas and spinach, while Emily generally fills up on $4 salads from the NGS cafeteria. We do this so that when we travel, we can eat what we want—be it cheesy tacos or key lime pie. Here, Emily writes about one such indulgence (there were many!) from her trip to Mississippi:

While traveling, I'm on a quest for the unique, especially when it comes to food. So, when my hosts told me about Jerry's Catfish House in Florence, Mississippi, I pleaded that we go. I mean, how many times in my life would I have a chance to go inside a giant concrete igloo, filled with more than 350 other people dining on all-you-can-eat plates of catfish? The idea was compelling—the experience even more so. We arrived early on a Saturday night—Jerry's is about 20 miles south of Jackson, just off Highway 49.  According to my hosts, we were lucky we didn't have to wait. 'On Friday nights, the line can reach out to here,' said Arnold, pointing to a spot 100 feet or so from the entrance, 'On those nights, we just turn around and go home.'