The Trip That Got Away

For every wonderful trip filled with memories, there's another voyage that never happened. Sigh. The trips we planned on, hoped for, gunned for, and then missed out on. I was trying so hard to be the fourth member of the team to Antarctica for this, the Shackleton Centenary Expedition. The team of spritely Brits is following in the footsteps, or rather ski tracks, of the doomed Antarctic explorer. I believe that I was disqualified for having an American passport or maybe for just having an American accent. Now, just to rub it in, the expedition sends me an e-mailed daily update telling all about what a fabulous time they're all having down in Antarctica. Wish you were here. Also, the post script asks if I might spare an extra 100 pounds right now to help defray the cost of the trip and all. So they ask me to apply to come along, then tell me thanks but no thanks, then send me daily post cards asking me for money to pay for their trip. It's kind of painful and maybe I'm kind of bitter. Antarctica is at the top of my list. Other pet peeves include people who refer to Antarctica as An-Artika, or worse yet, the "ARTIK".

Perhaps Shackleton himself felt the same way. So close to reaching his goal, and yet never made it, alas. 100 years later, we're celebrating his trip that got away. To all you cold, miserable souls on the ice down south, living the dream, with your satellite internet and such. Happy Thanksgiving!

Everyone in Zambia Hates Me

I walked to Zambia from Botswana (with the aid of a small ferry). I had spent all week in the bush and so it was kind of exciting for me to see people again. Alas, right after I took this snap, I incited a small riot of bitter, angry Zambian women. They demanded I give them money for their picture. Oops, I think I just fell right into the great debate of tourism--the objectification of foreigners, "poorism", and exploitation, etc. But you know, all I wanted was to take a picture.

In fairness, while I was a grad student at Oxford, busloads of Russian and Japanese tourists used to stop and take pictures of me, especially when I was dressed in sub-fusc. My only consolation is the thought of hundreds of pictures of me in the family photo albums of Osaka.

New York Field Trip

Back from a whirlwind of meetings in Manhattan, most of which were productive, interesting & compelling. And yet all that matters in New York are the senses, n'est-ce pas? So, before I forget, a roundup of favorite discoveries from my latest field trip:

• Macaron Cafe /161 West 36th Street/ A wee shop the size of a bathroom stall but chock-a-block with les vrais macarons francais. Like a little untrampled pink flower in the midst of hyper-choked midtown. Incroyable.

• Kunjip Restaurant /9 West 32nd Street/Just another glassfront restaurant in Koreatown but with impossible waits, insane crowds, compassionate waitstaff and perfect bowls of food. I dissected an entire mackerel with chopsticks.

• Craft /43 East 19th Street/A+ for design, A for foie gras appetizers, extra credit for the memorable risotto. Righteous brussel sprouts with bacon, yessss.
  

• Centro Vinoteca /74 Seventh Ave. South /West Village Italian restaurant with white-painted brick walls. Creamy polenta squares with fontina. Warm duck salad, amen.
  

Back from Botswana

Shot this croc in Chobe National Park, me in a boat, safely on the Botswana side, this lovely lizard smiling sheepishly on the shores of Namibia. My African adventure was incredible--I am still reeling from the animals and sunsets.

Off to Africa

The best trips are the spontaneous ones. No planning at all--just pick up and go. And like that, I'm off to the Okavango Delta of beautiful Botswana in about . . . well, right now. I think it was all meant to be since I recently met the former president of Botswana, the Travel Channel just released their one hour special on the country AND I live two blocks from the Embassy of Botswana. Lions, warthogs, and lilac-breasted rollers, oh my!

My Big Fat Shiny Silver Medal

I always love a good rumor, especially when it's about me. Imagine my excitement yesterday when a travel writer friend shot me an email congratulating me on my recent Lowell Thomas Award. I was like, really? So I checked it on their site and sure enough, it seems that I won the Lowell Thomas for my latest book, Iceland.

Now wait a minute, there. I didn't WIN win. I won SILVER, which if I am not mistaken, means I am not the greatest guidebook author in the universe, but only the second best guidebook writer in the universe . . until next year. But that's okay, because I love silver. In fact, I prefer wearing silver to gold, and it makes me feel just like the United States women's gymnastics team.

Here are the judges' nice comments about my book:

Full of fascinating details in writing, graphics and photos, “Iceland” delves deeply into the country in a format that often resists depth. Evans knows the country, and it shows. But he also organizes the essential information in an easy-to-use way. It’s the combination of depth and breadth that sets this guidebook apart from many others. Evans takes his subject seriously and invites the reader into the experience of Iceland with wit and authority.

"Depth and breadth . . . wit and authority." Oh, I'm so flattered and I have way too many people to thank: Dr. Brian Gratwicke (my trusty sidekick and the photographer whose images made the book pretty), my awesome contributors, especially Gudni Johannesson and Eliza Reid (who fact checked and wrote interesting text boxes), Nick Gilroy, and Dennis Riege. My awesome editor Anna Moores, who was extremely patient and full of good ideas, not to mention smart, meticulous, and respectful of all my little primadonna moments. Thanks to Adrian Phillips, Tricia Hayne, Donald Greig, and the rest of the team at Bradt Travel Guides in England. The biggest thanks of all goes to Hilary Bradt who gave me a shot at writing a book. Thank you, Hilary.

To Iceland and the Icelanders, I can't say Takk enough. Thanks to Einar Gustavsson for his interest and longstanding support of my book project, to Magnus Gustavsson for his genuine kindness and promotion of the book, and to Ambassador Albert Jonsson for his personal support. I am indebted to way too many Icelanders to squeeze into a blog post, but please know how grateful I am to all of your contributions big and small.

Getting a Lowell Thomas means a lot to me, so a huge thanks to the Society of American Travel Writers. It's really nice to be recognized for a book that took a whole year to research and write.

So what will I spend my prize money on? A ticket, to somewhere.

Isolation

It was my very first cruise. Ever. To Mexico, on Holland America. Yes, I loved it--I mean, I loved traveling by boat, being at sea, and coasting down the Baja coast. And I love Mexico. I don't know if I liked going on vacation with 2,800 other people. There are some disadvantages with a bunch that size.

Like so many travelers to Mexico before me, I picked up a souvenir case of Montezuma's Revenge (the Shrimp Ceviche sounded too authentic to miss). Then I made the mistake of going down to see the ship's doctor, who, in lieu of administering me any medicine, put me in quarantine for 24 hours. Aha! There's no vacation like quarantine, especially when you're paying for it. I tried to make the most of it, watching old movies, ordering room service every 20 minutes and trying to establish the ultimate Love in a Time of Cholera moment. Alas, sitting in your bed on a cruise ship with the sunny Pacific Ocean outside, well it kind of really sucks.

Oh, I understand the whole principle of keeping me away from the rest of the merry cruisegoers, but, but, but . . . . I spent a day of my tropical vacation in isolation! Alright, I'll get over it. OK, inhale, I think I'm over it. No hard feelings Holland America. I love your ship and your perky crew and your all day ice cream stand! You know, I might even go on another cruise with you some day. Next time though, don't expect me to tell you about my funny tummy.