Do you know what a NARROW BOAT is? You might well wonder why I pose such a question – I mean it should be obvious: a boat that’s very slim and trim. Well, you’re almost right. A Narrowboat (notice NO hyphen) epitomizes the often weird and many wonderful ways of tourism in Great Britain.

Brits call them Narrowboats, as it IS one word, and depending on their size and length, they can hold from 2 to 10 people. Research indicates there are over 38,000 Narrowboats in the UK, and they’re a wonderful leisurely way to see the 3,000 (yes, THREE THOUSAND!) miles of handsomely historic waterways that, Britain being Britain, envelops you in over 200 years of (mostly!) fascinating local and national history. To slightly alter a well-known cliché, the sights are a joy for fresh eyes!

Although a large percentage of Narrowboats are permanent homes for many people, there are still lots of places they can be rented, hired, or enjoyed as a special trip. Prices and itineraries online: Type in “Narrowboats in England.” Maximum length is 72 feet (2.13m) and to see WHY they’re called NARROWboats, go online and check out the multitude of nifty photos.

My first sighting of these gaily colored boats was on a trip to Great Britain. I was having “A Ploughman’s Lunch” (usually bread, cheese, and fresh, absolutely deeeeeelicious (!) ham, green salad, hard boiled eggs and an apple …. Plus a superb only in the UK pickled onion… aaaah, I can taste and sense the mouthwatering aroma right now), and it was in one of those classic riverside pubs.

Off to my left there was a long, narrow (!) bridge that spanned a gorgeous, lushly green valley below. What totally stunned me, and made me wonder if what I saw was REAL or a dream, was that the bridge was not (as I expected) for a roadway or railway, but a water canal! Adding to my joy and “visual senses,” was that coming towards us on the bridge waterway, was a slim, trim highly imaginative, full of character, multicolored Narrowboat.

I’ve always loved “chatting up the locals” wherever I go, and near my lunch table was a middle aged couple who looked as if they’d stepped out of a British Tourist office poster advertising Britain and her people. The woman smiled at me, noticing the obvious surprise of seeing what was now very near to us. “Yes,” she said in a marvelous – but a somewhat hard to understand local brogue, “they ARE lovely aren’t they… you can rent them, and some offer you the chance to step off the Narrowboat and stay overnight in one of the many waterside cottages.”

To get an even better “feel” for Narrowboats, check out the Huddersfield Narrow Canal. At 3 miles in length, it is the deepest canal in Britain, and took 16 years to build and, as you’ll see, has some absolutely exquisite local scenery along the canal route.

Talking with some Narrowboat owners, I was intrigued to hear that another joy of Narrowboating, is the number of Locks you’ll go up or down through. The UK has 1,569 locks and 53 tunnels that some canals go through, plus 3,112 canal carrying bridges, and even 370 water canal aqueducts.

For photo buffs, I urge you to check out – and for sure photograph – the BINGLEY FIVE RISE LOCKS on the Leeds and Liverpool Canal at Bingley. If shot with a wide angle lens, it looks as if the five lock gates are part of some Steeple Chase canal adventure. It’s too confusing to describe how they function, as you’ll get a much better idea of WHY they’re so intriguing, by a personal visit. I’d heartily recommend you go in the summer months.

Don’t be narrow minded: experience a trip in a Narrowboat in the UK.

The post A “Narrowboat” Adventure in the United Kingdom, IS a Super Getaway appeared first on Traveling Boy.

On a dreary overcast morning, George Clooney was nowhere to be found. His canary-colored mansion on Lake Como was only viewable from the water and we saw just one person on the terrace.

“That’s probably someone on the cleaning staff,” said our tour guide, as we zipped past the mansion in a small tourist skipper, the chilly wind against our scarf-clad faces, all six of us. Due to the cloud cover, the temperature felt barely above freezing.

We were present far outside the tourist season, when Clooney usually arrived. A few other boats lilted on the water, but there wasn’t much activity.

Our gazes remained on the mansion, which together with a tall cypress tree, a mix of laurels and broadleaf evergreens, cast a shimmering zig-zag pastiche of yellow and green reflections on the water, as if our group had sailed straight into an oil painting. With my phone, I snapped a dozen photos.

Clooney purchased the villa more than 20 years earlier. Back then, not many foreign celebrities gallivanted around these parts. He invested a few million to fix up the place and triggered a generation of sightseers. According to gossip from the locals, Clooney was now sick of people sneaking photos from the lake. I couldn’t blame him.

While others in our group swiveled their heads to scan the landscape surrounding Clooney’s home, I instead fixated on the reflections and gave thanks, not just for the sheer privilege of a business trip to Como, but also for shaking off the paparazzi impulse I once had, around 2010, when I saw photographers hounding Clooney’s then-partner while she waltzed out of LAX.

That was a different business trip, a different me.

Yet there on Lake Como, the memory came right back.

After returning from a long trip overseas and landing that day at LAX, I slumped at the back of an inter-terminal bus on a 90-degree afternoon. Hordes of sweaty passengers crammed their way through the doors, all struggling with various sizes of luggage. Everybody seemed miserable.

Out in front, on the road, we saw a woman stride confidently across the sun-baked asphalt, but with something draped over most of her head. A small mob of photographers encircled her as she walked, capturing images in rapid-fire fashion from every direction as she approached the garage. Unfazed, she ignored them all, not giving an inch.

After the woman disappeared, the paparazzi dispersed and a few of them boarded the bus. One sat next to me, spreading across two seats when he only needed one. A camera hung over his shoulder while he flipped through photos on a second camera.

“Who was it?” I asked him.

“George Clooney’s girlfriend,” he said, without looking up.

As the bus lurched its way forward through the mess of traffic, with sounds of shifting transmissions and horns outside, a toxic thought came to me. My travel writing career was circling the drain. I would never make any real money and I was going broke. I could land assignments that took me far away, but I rarely got to write anything interesting or elevate the stories of marginalized people the way I really wanted.

Watching the paparazzi, I thought, maybe I could do this. I could be one of these jerks. Get into the business for a few months, make a quick fortune peddling photos, then bail. Done.

After a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, the idea dissolved. Luckily. But for a brief spell, after witnessing those guys, I actually thought about it. I really did. In a life of bad decisions, that would have been a bad decision.

Now with killer shots of the reflections on Lake Como, I’d happily give away the photo on social media. My journalism career was still adrift, but I’d managed to plug the drain for a few more years. Thankfully, I never turned into one of those paparazzi creeps.

As we zoomed past the villa, the person on the terrace shuffled back into the building. I didn’t care either way if Clooney was around. I had my artsy photo of the water and I felt fantastic.

With the reflections now behind me, I turned around for one last glimpse of Clooney’s mansion. I heard the motor of the boat and nothing else but pure, pristine water rippling in the wind.

The post George Clooney Inspires Paparazzi Memories appeared first on Traveling Boy.

Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic is a photographer’s delight. We’ve been lucky enough this year to have had two professional guides in the Czech Republic (one in Prague and another in Brno, the second largest city in the country.) Both guides gave the same advice: Don’t come with lists with convictions you have to see certain things. The way to enjoy Czech Republic cities, they say, is to wander aimlessly and see what comes up. And what comes up is we find Prague is a beautiful old city, one of the few major European cities that was not seriously damaged in World War II and one of the few to show no evidence of the Romans.

“There is no Roman influence or presence here,” says our guide Milos Curik. “They found dense forest between Moravia and Bohemia that was too much trouble to penetrate so they didn’t come this way. The land is actually still one third heavily forested.” What we find here are ancient buildings and a lot of history. Milos, with a personal interest in arts and music, gives his top five places to visit as the Kampa Museum and its examples of Central European art under communism; the Museum of Cubism that has celebrated its presence now for a century; the Jewish museum which is really a group of five magnificent synagogues; the Lobkovicz Palace, a museum of Old Masters; and the little houses along Golden Lane in one of which Kafka wrote some of his books. Milos then sneaks in a number 6: the Cloister of St. Agnes. So when asked, Milos himself has lists.

But despite what we now know, we, too, have come with lists, places we want to see and especially photograph. And we want to start now! We have our cameras. We are ready to produce our private postcards from Prague. But we’re not ready for the surprises.

We knew we’d want to see the Astronomical Clock, Prague’s famous 15th century timepiece and we guessed correctly we’d find some tourists hamming it up below. And we were sure we’d discover more than a few references to, arguably, its favorite writer, Kafka. No surprises.

We knew of Prague’s love of music. After all, this is the country of Anton Dvorak and the city where Mozart composed two operas and conducted the first performance of Don Giovanni in Prague’s Estates Theatre. So it’s no surprise to find street musicians celebrated and plaques on the Charles Bridge given a lifetime of polish from the touch of superstitious hands. Milos also takes pains to show us the original Prague cubit, based on a metal measurement of the length of Charles IV’s forearm. The measurement has been on this door on Neruda Street for a long time: Charles lived from 1316 to 1378!

We expected to see evidence of devout Catholicism in Prague’s churches and museums (and St. Nicholas Church surely showed us that in Prague Castle) but we didn’t quite know what to make of the disconcerting statue of the skull under the robe in the Basilica of St. George at a moment when we didn’t have Milos — and none of the placards were in English. Enough to imagine the effect it would have had on minds of the Middle Ages!

We guessed we’d see couples and we did photograph some recently wedded ones. A moment later we follow a tourist with a red shirt (attracted to the color like moths to flame). He stops by chance beside an oddity – what looks like Don Quixote but we’re not in Spain.

Our visit to the John Lennon Wall is intercepted by Segway tourists. Who would have thought a Dean Kamen New Hampshire invention would work so well on the cobblestones of Prague? Or that John Lennon would be so honored in a distant land? Young people in the communist era saw the popular Beatle as an anti-establishment hero and at random chose a wall right beside the French Embassy for their anti-government graffiti. The authorities kept removing the slogans until the Embassy asked they be left alone, surprisingly because somehow one doesn’t expect French institutions to have a sense of humor. The slogans on the wall are ever-changing but words attributed to Lennon are never erased even those that say “Hey! Who’s been writing on my wall?”

It was no surprise to find soldiers marching in a medieval city — and we were sure there would be museums of armor though we were taken aback to find one in so diminutive a Mother Goose-like village as Golden Lane especially near number 22 where Kafka’s sister lived and where he stayed to write some of his books.

Despite having so many churches Prague is a secular city. Why would it not be; its people had suffered for centuries from religious wars? Organized religion has not been kind to this ancient city. Yet we knew we would notice beautiful wood carvings even though we might not find the story behind them. Fortunately our guide Milos spoke fluent English, fortunate because during a third of a century of communist oppression, the school children learned Russian not English and the museums don’t exhibit much in our language. So we expected church wood carvings but not Charlie Chaplin puppets.

We know a variety of T-shirts and baseball caps awaits tourists in every city. No surprise to find then in Prague but, hey! Jewish baseball caps in the Old Jewish Quarter? Why not – after all there was a 1913 song called “Jake! Jake! The Yiddish Ballplayer,” and Hank Greenberg and Sandy Koufax were both Hall of Famers.

So which of our postcards surprised us? We didn’t expect to see such amusing stuff in restaurant windows in Neruda Street or that the street itself would be so beautiful, so mesmerizing. Indeed that Prague itself would be both so fascinating and such fun.

The post Postcards From Prague: Contrasts in our Cameras appeared first on Traveling Boy.

Hong Kong was always a favorite city, one that offered multiple adventures and my first close-up view of a great mix of East and West.

In the last offering in this Traveling Boy group effort, https://travelingboy.com/travel/favorite-airports-of-our-past/, I described one of my earlier landings in the city, via the old Kai Tak Airport, a legend of passenger terror.

But Kai Tak is long gone now, replaced in 1998 by Kong Kong International Airport on Chen Lap Kok Island in Lantau.

The handover of Hong Kong from British colonial rule to Chinese sovereignty, after 156 years of British rule that began after the first Opium War, was completed the prior year.

I had not been to Hong Kong since several years prior to the transfer, a second honeymoon of sorts, with a still relatively new bride.

An opportunity to again darken the door of the Hong Kong Foreign Correspondents’ Club on Hong Kong Island recently presented itself.

It was one of the few bright spots in a cascading travel hell. I left Washington, DC on January 24th, heading to the ASEAN Travel Conference on Cebu Island in the Philippines. The trip, with short layovers, was 25 hours long. That seemed onerous, particularly in today’s Economy Class.

That was nothing.

No short story, but with record winter storms, cancelled flights, plane malfunctions like a wing flap not working, etc., I landed in Cebu, mostly sleepless, on the 29th. That included two frozen days in Boston, fortunately at a hotel, after which another blizzard came in and my flight was again cancelled just as I got to the gate. Not wanting to be snowed in again, which would have deep-sixed my trip, I pleaded with an experienced old hand agent to get me into the air. He put me on the last plane out, at midnight, on Qatar Airways. After two hours of deicing it finally departed, slowly down the snowy runway for what seemed a very long time and then, with ample suspense, lifted off on the way to Doha. After a long sleepless night in Doha’s admittedly striking airport, I flew to Hong Kong. How best to survive a long layover there?

An old buddy, a longtime journalist in Hong Kong, met me at the airport and, as I had reciprocity with Hong Kong’s press club, we enjoyed dinner and drinks there until the club shut down, chatting away with the eclectic crowd that club always attracted, including criminal barristers and people involved in ocean freight, and diminishing journalists.

The last time I was in the club was New Year’s Eve to usher in 1993. Just before midnight, my wife and I had just returned to the club from the Lan Kwai Fong district located a ways down the hill from the club. The New Year’s Eve crowd was huge, shoulder to shoulder in the bars. The crowds gave us a bad feeling and we retreated up the hill to the club for the countdown.

Lucky break for us. Just before midnight the crowd of twenty or so thousand stampeded out of the district’s plentiful bars to cheer in the new year. Many rushed onto a narrow cobblestone street we had just walked up. There were ample spilled drinks mixing with string in a can and foam on a very steep grade. Revelers started sliding down, and panicked. People fell down and were trampled. At the bottom of the mayhem, bodies piled on bodies. Twenty people were crushed to death and scores injured.

Avoid large places, keep to small, the lesson of a Japanese folk tale, The Boy Who Drew Cats, came to mind.

But most memories of Hong Kong were far happier than that tragedy. They included the gone and sorely missed old Hong Kong Hilton, which before sunrise would put guests in a antique Bentley or antique Rolls and drop them halfway up the mountain, letting the joggers get acquainted with the island as they found their way back as the city and harbor below came to life. I’d missed Hong Kong and was thrilled to be back, catching a second wind that travel excitement can bring.

Enjoying the balmy air, we did a long walkabout on Hong Kong island. It was the first chance I had to try out a wide angle lens that arrived just before I left DC. Glad I kept my main camera with me when traveling, as the airlines lost my suitcase for another eight days, damaging it to boot. By the time it caught up to me on the island of Bohol (Philippines) my clothes were carrying me around.

The enclosed snaps are of urban landscapes that caught my eye as we walked to Hong Kong’s Star Ferry, and a couple from the subway as I made my way back to the airport. Throughout my trip in the Philippines the 9mm F2.8 APS-C prime lens by Viltrox prove to be a lot of fun, well worth the 200 beans it cost.

Pictures from Cebu Airport, Philippines

The post Hong Kong Walkabout appeared first on Traveling Boy.

Long overdue for a return, last fall I was offered a chance to attend Peru’s first eco-travel conference, with side explorations of northeast and northern Peru, including the world’s highest tropical mountain range and ancient ruins far older than Machu Picchu. Those locales proved an embarrassment of riches, well-worth recounting. But I’ll do that down the road. For now I’ll describe my return to the lower elevation of Lima. I had to kill a day awaiting a midnight flight to the States. At the baggage claim, I overheard a couple fellow travelers setting up passage on a boat to islands off the coast of Lima. They aimed to swim with the sea lions that ruled those seas. That sounded terrific. I quickly signed on. 

First though, a mild panic. Stepping outside Jorge Chávez International Airport, I entered a giant snow globe filled with dirty snow. I looked about for a fire spewing ashes. None was seen. I closed one eye. Nothing. Switched. Uh oh. Only one eye could see the drifting ashes. Nothing to be done then.

We proceeded to find the taxis that waited to take us on a fifteen minute ride northwest to the port of Callao. No time to explore the port environs founded by Spain in 1537. Others also founded it, over the prior 10,000 years, focused on fishing its waters. English and Dutch pirates were fond of attacking the settlement, stimulating the construction of high defensive walls. Pirates were nothing compared to the earthquakes and tsunamis that in the mid-1700’s wiped out most of the population. The sea’s ample fishing continued to attract those willing to press their luck.

Leaving our luggage in the office of the water excursion company, Ecocruceros, we walked to a small boat that ferried us out to a larger one, holding a dozen or so eager tourists from a wide swath of the globe, and several crew. The time at sea was predicted to be between three and four hours, bringing the S.S. Minnow to mind.

Along the way to Palamino Islets at which eight to ten thousand sea lions hang, one passes several other islands. These include El Camotal, the Peruvian Atlantis. It’s mostly submerged except during low tide between December and March. Once a vibrant agricultural community growing the sweet potatoes prized in Peru, it sank in 1746 when the earthquake and tsunami reshaped the coastline. Much more visible is San Lorenzo Island, the largest and tallest on Peru’s coast. It houses a naval base that occasionally shells part of the island for target practice. Another island is El Frontón, earlier known as Dead Man’s Island when inhabited by pirates. It became a maximum security penal colony in the 1900’s, including for political prisoners, never in short supply in 20th Century Peru.

El Frontón was shut down after a Shining Path uprising in the 1980’s over prison conditions. An explosive military attack killed hundreds of prisoners. Sea lions and Humbolt penguins now come and go freely. More birds, including boobies, cormorants and pelicans join the penguins on the Cavinzas Islands, a nature reserve. There was some mining of once valuable guano for fertilizer in these islands, but nothing significant compared to the islands much farther south. Plenty of guano is apparent on the cliffs. A bucket and rope indicates someone still snitches some for a local crop.

An impressive escape from El Frontón was managed by Guillermo Portugal Delgado, aka La Gringa, who used a blonde wig to disguise himself as a woman. He killed a sea lion and used it for buoyancy and disguise, and maybe the fat to coat his body, as he swam the 7km to the port. An award-winning film on the noted criminal and escape artist, Alias “La Gringa” (1991) tells the tale, elevating Portugal to folk hero status while using his life to illustrate the turbulent ’80’s in Peru. 

What eventually happened to Portugal? One AI oracle says he was later killed in a shootout with police. Another says he was disillusioned that the criminal world, violent and ruined by drugs, had lost its former codes. Living with his mother, he sought and lived a peaceful life. He even worked as a security guard at the film studio, and at a cevichería seafood restaurant. Other searches yielded variations. There are no reports of his death other than the AI entity claiming the lethal shootout. And there, in a nutshell, is the reliability of AI. 

The waves in Peru’s winter, June to September, are especially rough.  Most passengers accepted the offer of a seasick pill. I spurned it, staying in the strong breeze at the bow, avoiding diesel fumes, and I was fine taking my snaps.

After indulging in the fragrance of eight to ten thousand sea lions and of the bird guano waves splash into the water, on the way back I accepted a pill. Gratefully. I wouldn’t guess at the water quality but one should keep one’s mouth firmly closed. And not miss the chance to shower back at the port at the Ecocruceros facilities. Otherwise one might feel a bit ripe on a long plane ride.

Here’s a good tip. There are wet suits aboard that cover most of one’s limbs. And suits quite short of that. Get the best coverage you can grab. The waters last October were 60 degrees F, via the Humboldt Current and upwelling from the denser deep that speeds one’s body heat away. I was late to the pile of wetsuits, and got less coverage. When I hit the water, the cold took my breath away. But no matter the size suit, those waters will always be…bracing. I heard that in Peru’s summer, December to March, the water is calmer and warmer, warmer being relative.

I’d never imagined seeing so many sea lions, tucked onto the rock formations and quite high on the sides of cliffs, seeming to defy gravity. Higher up and far to the side, penguins have their own private berths, both in caves and burrowed into guano, though many stand outside like sentries. Given the opportunity, sea lions will prey on the penguins, who worry most when getting in and out of the water.

After reckoning with the shock of the cold, I swam off from the boat. In moments I was surrounded by cheeky sea lions who barked their amusement as they robbed me of my comb-over. Their cacophony reminded me of relentless taxi horns early morning in downtown Manhattan. Eager to warm up by swimming fast, I swam a bit too close to the island and had to backpedal hard to keep strong waves from tossing me onto the rocks where masses of sea lions sunbathed a foot away. An alpha male with a huge head suddenly leveled his gaze at me. I quickly looked away. No offense intended, sir.

Many years back when snorkeling in the Galapagos, I caught the local alpha male’s attention by clapping my hands, not seeing a guide on a boat frantically waving for me not to. Suddenly the alpha dove in and beelined to me. He brushed my face as he sped by with his sizable teeth barred. Lesson learned.

You can’t touch the sea lions but they can touch you. Leaning back onto my life preserver I lifted my feet. Curious young sea lions approached and nibbled gently on my toes. Counting them afterwards, I retained my allotted amount.

The whole experience was one of the best encounters with wildlife I’ve had. It was like being fire-hosed by nature.

Even better, I honestly felt the participating sea lions enjoyed us as much as we enjoyed them.

Upon my return to Washington, DC, I quickly contacted the eye surgeon who’d ridden me of cataracts and put in lenses that had me exchanging waves with the man in the moon. His urgent exam revealed a detached retina. He then rushed me to another surgeon who blasted away with a laser for half an hour. The inflamed scar tissue sealed the rip before liquid could enter and bubble up the retina like water under wallpaper. The eye is now well on its way back to normal, the darting imaginary mosquitos in my peripheral diminishing. At least until summer, when DC’s Asian tiger mosquitos will prove authenticity.

====================

Given the quality of the experience, the costs are quite reasonable. $69 US for adults, $59 for students, $49 for children 12 and under, plus a tax to the environment ministry and a five buck boarding fee. The guides are professional and amiable. Given the length of the cruise and how fast you’ll burn calories in the water, eat before going and maybe bring some candy bars or protein bars. Before departing to the boat, street vendors will pitch transparent waterproof coverings for cell phones that allow the phone cameras to work in water. I don’t use a cell phone, but I saw buyers argue them down to half-price, ($10?) and they appeared to work fine.

The post Sea Lions Stole My Comb-Over appeared first on Traveling Boy.

They Were Huge! Even though a photo of the Graf Zeppelin still does not do justice to the airship’s enormous size, one can still get some sort of relevance from this postcard as to how huge they were. It was 776 feet long, and had a volume of an incredible 3,700,000 cubic feet. It could burn either gasoline or something called Blau gas and, if the both were used, it had an even more amazing flight time of 118 hours! During its lifetime (September 1928 to June 1937) it made 590 flights covering more than a million miles, and was the first ever non-stop flight across the Pacific, finally landing at what was then Mines Field (now LAX) in 1929. On one trip that was largely funded by the sales of postage stamps (!!!), they sold and carried on board 52,000 postcards and 50,000 letters! Given its huge size it has always seemed strange to me that passenger capacity was only 20, yet it had room for 40 crew members!

Well, of course you’re right. It did explode, and that explosion has fascinated mankind ever since – especially as to what caused it. This major event in aviation was also the place for one of radio’s all time most memorable moments when the reporter, Herbert Morrison who was there to broadcast its arrival, broke down as he saw it crashing in front of his eyes, and is probably best remembered for his phrase, “Oh the humanity…I can’t go on.” But, yes, I did board the airship, and all those positive words I just noted, were indeed fact. But I was also in one of the most fascinating museums I’ve ever seen.

I was in the southern German town of Friedrichshafen (www.friedrichshafen.de) and I was at the Zeppelin Museum where they have a totally realistic mock up of a large part of the Hindenburg. And it’s absolutely mesmerizing. If Detroit is the Mecca for cars (or maybe was, in the heyday day of the US automobile!), then Friedrichshafen is THE Mecca for airships. Located on the picturesque shores of romantic Lake Constance (or Bodensee as it’s called in Germany), this equally colorful town is awash in Zeppelin and airship memorabilia. There are streets named after Count Zeppelin, and statues and models here, there and seemingly everywhere of Zeppelins, that are large, small and just about everything in between. Gift shops? You bet, and it seems as if every street corner, and just about every 3rd street, has a shop that’s jam packed with everything you can think of to do with airships and Zeppelins.

I was there as part of a US group of travel media and our visit did not, sadly, allow us time to stay very long, but had I been on my own I would have loved to have stayed there for about a week or longer. It’s a great place to vacation and is fascinating, charming, lovely and really interesting in its own right. I don’t know about you, but when I think of Germany, I think of places like Bavaria and big cities like Berlin and Munich. Lakeshore towns like Friedrichshafen do not come to mind – I mean it looks and feels and sounds more like some gorgeous, very romantic Italian resort.

The Zeppelin Museum (www.zeppelin-museum.de) is an incredible 43,000 square foot facility (it was originally the Harbor Railway station) and is home to the largest (natch!) repository of objects, memorabilia and technology of anything and everything connected in any way shape or form to airships. Let me suggest that either before or after you tour this intriguing museum, you take time out to enjoy some snacks in the Museum’s restaurant. Not only do you get a superb view of the scenery, but you look out onto lovely Lake Constance and the Alps, yes the Alps!!! The town is situated in southern Germany near the borders of Switzerland and Austria, and has a population of just 58,000. Since opening on July 2nd, 1996, the museum has seen over 3,600,000 visitors and, as any visitor can tell you, the highlight and major attraction, is the reconstruction of a 108 foot section of the legendary LZ 129, or more commonly known as the Hindenburg.

I was amazed and stunned at how big everything was. I took photos of one of the lounges aboard and one of the bedrooms. The full length Wall Map shows some of the routing of the airship around the world. Another photo of mine shows the intricate interior of the Hindenburg, and the sort of lattice type construction used. This is one amazing museum, and if you never go to any other museum anywhere, I urge to visit this one.

Just as the name Boeing is instantly associated with aircraft, so the name Zeppelin is associated with airships. Inventor, true visionary and a major industrialist, Graf (or Count) Zeppelin was born in 1838 and died in 1917. His interest in this form of transportation began in 1874, and with his driving passion for airships, along with his wealth and personal dedication, he was able to overcome many challenges that other, lesser men, would not have been able to even consider. If you’re wondering if Zeppelins are still in existence, the answer is a resounding YES!!! They are alive and well in this town, and there’s (even) a Zeppelin factory that makes these still amazing airships – check out www.zeppelinflug.de

It was around 7pm on May 6th, 1937 that disaster struck the Hindenburg. Considering the shocking film footage of the crash, it’s amazing that of the 97 people on board, only 35 perished, plus one on the ground. She had a passenger capacity of 70, along with a crew of 61— including 21 trainees. In the blazing inferno that was this tragedy, 13 passengers, 22 crew and one person on the ground, died. The airship was 804 feet in length, had a diameter of 135 feet, and was powered by four 1,200 hp Mercedes Benz engines. Its top speed was a leisurely 84 mph. Put another way, the super liner Titanic was only 78 foot longer than the Hindenburg at 882 feet. The Hindenburg was designed to carry a gas volume of 7,062,000 cubic feet, which meant that when she was filled with hydrogen, it would give her an amazing 242 tons of gross lift — an incredible achievement today, but even more awesome back in the 1930s.

The portion that is open to tourists is so realistic it convinced me that I was actually on board the real airship. As I looked out the giant widows and gazed down at the ground below, it was easy to imagine standing there in 1937 as she came in for a landing — and hearing the ship’s commander announcing its impending arrival at the Lakehurst Naval Air Station. Knowing what actually took place a few minutes later, made the whole “moment” even more eerie. As I said, this is without doubt, one of the most intriguing museums I’ve ever visited in my trips around the world. If your travels to take you to Germany (www.cometogermany.com) I urge you to find time to visit not only Friedrichshafen, but also this amazing museum.

Now then, can I make a reservation for you on your first Hindenburg flight?

Fitting the Image! How often in life do certain people absolutely fit the image of who and what they are? This aristocratic figure looks EXACTLY as I imagined him. What do YOU think? Just as the name William Boeing was the name of the man who started the airplane company, so the name Zeppelin is always associated with this gentleman as being the founder and inventor of giant airships known by his name – Zeppelin. His full name is Ferdinand Adolf August Heinrich Graf (Count) von Zeppelin. “Graf” is a title and, translated means Count. It is not a first or middle name. He was born on July 8th, 1838 and died at the end of WW1, on March 8th, 1917.

Zeppelin Trivia: The name of the British rock group Led Zeppelin, came from his airship, and Zeppelin’s granddaughter, Countess Eva Von Zeppelin once wanted to sue the group for illegal use of that famous name, while the group was performing in Copenhagen, Denmark in February, 1970. The giant and hugely successful Graf Zeppelin airship was also named in his honor.

The post Consider a Trip to the Famous German Airship: The Hindenburg appeared first on Traveling Boy.

Copacabana Beach is an expansive 2.5 miles long beach and Brazil’s most populous. The others include Leblon Beach with no crowds and clouds; Ipanema Beach, popular with the wealthy; and Praia do Leme, a lovely beach with clean water, but a bit too crowded.

In the distance, Christ the Redeemer (Portuguese: (Cristo  Redentor) looked down at us. The statue was constructed in 1931 to commemorate Brazil’s 100 years  of independence from Portugal. At 98 ft, high with welcoming arms, stretching 92 ft. wide, it was selected as one of the modern 7 Wonders of the World.

“Yankee go home” were the first words we heard in English. They were delivered by an American expat with a decidedly New Jersey accent.  Along with his Brazilian wife they approached us.

“Gee, how’d you know we were Americans,” I laughed.

He replied, “Because your wife is carrying a camera (She only uses film) and wearing jewelry and you both have wristwatches, a dead giveaway that you were Yanks. Only carry the money you need for the day because you may be pickpocketed.”

“Try to see it their way. Imagine you’re a man who has not worked for five years, his children are starving and his wife has a devastating toothache. I’d steal a camera and then sell it on the black market. Wouldn’t you?”

Yes, crime is a problem. Rio remains dangerous. In 2023, the national rate was 18.5 per 100,000, while Rio’s was 21.3, ranking it among the top 10 highest cities.

Pixote (“Small Child,” “The Law of the Weakest”) is a 1980 Brazilian crime drama film directed by Héctor Babenco. It plays like a raw documentary, and informed the world how crime really is so horrendous in Rio. 

But the people on the beach seemed happy. Copacabana Beach plays host to millions of revelers during the annual New Year’s Eve celebrations, and for the first three editions of the tournament, has been the official venue of the FIFA Beach Soccer World Cup. On December 31, 1994, Copacabana’s New Year’s Eve celebrations featured a Rod Stewart concert with an attendance of 4.5 million, making it the largest concert crowd of all time.

With all that is said and done, someday I will return to Copacabana Beach for a New Year’s Eve celebration. How can I not. I love the people, culture and pulse of life.

The post Copacabana Beach, Rio de Janeiro appeared first on Traveling Boy.

They picked me up at 8:00 a.m. on Friday, April 29, 2016. Jeannette gets horribly carsick, so she has two options: (1) She can drive, in which case she doesn’t get sick, or (2) she can take massive doses of Dramamine and be too drowsy to fully appreciate the trip. So she did all the driving to Sally’s house.

When we entered St. George, the first order of business was to go to Culver’s, where we had dinner and frozen custard. Jeannette has a slim build, so it’s shocking to see the amount of frozen custard this girl can consume.

Then we went to Sally’s, where we were warmly greeted by her and her daughter, Brenda. After we explained why Jeannette needed to be the driver on our excursion, Sally reluctantly agreed to navigate while Jeannette did the driving.

I just happened to bring my folder of stories I’ve written for my Writers’ Group, so I regaled everyone there with a few stories. In true showbiz tradition, I left them wanting more, quitting after reading three or four stories. No amount of cajoling could entice me to reopen the folder – we were finished for the night. Maybe tomorrow.

Sally served us a lovely breakfast, café style, where each person ordered what he or she wanted. Then we headed for the CRV – which means “Crossover Recreational Vehicle” – a term I’d never heard before. This CRV would be our quarters for much longer than we planned.

We drove through Zion – gorgeous and breathtaking – but we didn’t stop, Bryce being our destination. We planned to make Inspiration Point our first stop. As our vehicle was climbing higher and higher, snow began falling. Everything was beautiful and serene, until Sally suddenly said “We need to turn around. We obviously missed the turn-off for Inspiration Point.” We turned the vehicle around and drove, as the snow continued. We stopped at a look-out where we viewed Swamp Canyon and saw some mini-snowmen perched on the rail, that someone had left behind for us to enjoy.

We finally came to Inspiration Point. I don’t know if that’s a strong enough word for this massive, colorful, naturally-created architectural phenomenon, with its hoodoos, which is the name for the towers, spires, and statue-like figures rising up from the basin. I just stood in wonder, marveling at this site that brought tears not only to my eyes, but also the eyes of my big, strong son-in-law. Not wanting to miss a thing, Jeannette and Kolin ventured higher on foot, while I retreated to the CRV, where Sally was waiting. During this trip she rarely got out of the vehicle, enjoying the sights vicariously, as she had been on this tour many times before. The next stop was Sunset Point, where we viewed Bryce Canyon from a different angle.

As we drove on, the snow increased in intensity. I should mention here that we had a route all planned, which involved driving in one large circle, so that when we left Bryce, we wouldn’t be terribly far from home. As we turned to go toward Cedar City, the cleared road came to an abrupt stop, ending in a snow bank. Jeannette turned the vehicle around and took the other road to get down the mountain. We were at 10,420 feet when the cleared road started getting more and more narrow, with the snow encroaching, but on we went – that is, until the narrowing snow banks blocked the road entirely. So daughter Jeannette temporarily relinquished the driver’s seat to her husband so that he could turn the vehicle around. Now there was nothing we could do except back-track and return home the way we had come – which would mean about 50-70 more miles than we’d intended, but we had no other option. As we reversed our original route down the mountain, it started to hail and then snow very hard. It was a complete white-out with the snow covering the tracks of the vehicles that had traversed this road before us. The entire situation was a bit disconcerting to all of us out-of-towners, which worsened when Sally started saying over and over “Oh, my goodness!” as she watched the snow and hail blanket the asphalt.

At this point, nature was calling and I needed a restroom immediately. We stopped at a general store. Getting to it involved walking up a slight grade that was covered with icy snow. I decided that I could make it that far but no farther. When we went in and asked about restrooms we were told, “Oh, they’re in the building out back.” So, like it or not, more walking was required. Fortunately, the building had regular toilets and was not the out- house we fearfully anticipated. Thank goodness, we all made it there in time.

We got back on the road and after we’d driven approximately two miles, the heavy snow lightened up, turning to rain, and the fear of being stuck at the top of the mountain in a snow storm was lifted. At one point, we had actually been concerned about becoming stranded, to the extent that we took inventory of our food and water.

Because of the extra distance we traveled, we had a very late dinner at Sally’s favorite restaurant, the Black Bear Diner. The next morning we all trekked back there for breakfast and were joined by Sally’s daughter, Lorena.

Before we departed, Sally’s daughter Brenda, knowing my love of the color pink, presented me with a pink basket, holding a small cactus plant surrounded by pink lacy fabric and quartz rocks. As we said good-bye, we were amazed at how much we had squeezed into this three-day weekend, when we actually witnessed one of the Wonders of the World. We drove off, heading for home, but one more stop awaited us: at Culvers. Jeannette has a routine she follows. She came armed with a large ice chest and purchased dry ice so that she could take home many containers of this magnificent elixir known as frozen custard, but first, of course, we all had one for the road.

The post A Weekend in Utah appeared first on Traveling Boy.

At the other end of the square sat the iconic symbol of Milan: The Duomo di Milano. Occupying an entire city block, the Lombard Gothic style cathedral glistened in evening light due to the façade of pink-veined white Candoglia marble. Adorned with 3,400 statues, 135 gargoyles and 700 figures, construction took over 500 years to complete. As the third largest cathedral in the world, I could just catch a glimpse of the rooftop terrace with the gold-colored statue of the Madonnina, standing on the Duomo’s highest spire.

I proclaimed then and there it was the most beautiful cathedral I had ever seen. I read in a guide book that there’s an elevator to the top, but you can also walk up the stairs in an average time of 10 to 15 minutes. I challenged myself to do it in under 10. But first, the night was before me and it was time to explore more of the pulsating city of Milan.

The Next Day

After a filling lunch of the Milanese specialties Osso Buco – a cross-cut veal shank with a bone marrow hole at its center, served with the traditional side dish of Risotto alla Milanese with saffron – I took another look at my guide book.

Surrounded by skinny suit attired locals on the go, I read that Milan is an important railway hub, which many tourists use as a starting point for journeys to more ancient Italian cities with Roman ruins and medieval cobblestone streets.  This is not Milan. As the fashion capital of the world, it is there to experience the moment. Milan embodies the Italian notion of la bella figura: behaving well and looking good doing it.

With a population of 1,357,599,  Milan is also a major financial, industrial, and design hub. It possesses a historic core that has an imposing, solid grandeur to it.  In recent years, vehicles have begun being banished from it (gradually – street by street), making one feel as if in an open-air living room.

As I strolled to the Duomo, I remembered last night’s outing to the famous Navigli, a canal area left over from a system of waterways that once connected Milano with Lake Como and the Adriatic Sea.

The innovative system of locks was designed by Leonardo Da Vinci in the late fifteenth century. One of the canals actually stopped directly in front of Duomo, transporting the Candoglia marble from quarries in Lake Maggiore. Leonardo spent 17-years in Milan. His fresco of “The Last Supper” is available for viewing at the Church of Santa Maria delle Grazie, but make sure you get your tickets in advance.

1:02 PM: Soon I arrived at the darkened entryway of the Duomo. Before me were the high steps to the terrace.   I gave the elevator a second look, and began my ascent up the stairway. Worn smooth by centuries of other pilgrims, it seemed an easy task. There was a young family leisurely walking up the steps before me so I lessened my pace, rather than rush by them and ruin their experience. I decided to take a short break by an open window overlooking the square.

I could just make out the magnificent Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II Arcade, named for the first king of Italy in 1900 after the unification of the Italian States. The famous passageway through the arcade was where the likes of Toscanini, Verdi and Maria Callas would walk after a performance at nearby Teatro alla Scala. I had hoped to book a ticket at the historic opera house, but did manage a tour where I enjoyed an unforgettable afternoon rehearsal, thanks to With Locals’ all knowing guide, Francesca Giorgetti.

1:06 PM: I took another look at my watch, and realized that I had some serious time to make-up. I charged up the steps, this time passing the group before me. Another 100 steps on, I began to falter. Did the guidebook say anything about the effect of the altitude? And why had I had such a big lunch? Disappointed in myself, I needed another reprieve.

I caught my breath before another open window where I could see the entrance to the interior. I had booked my ticket earlier at the Museo del Duomo where the helpful staff were quite accommodating, answering my endless questions. As expected, the interior of the Duomo was beautiful, consisting of a nave with four side-aisles, crossed by a transept, then followed by an apse. Above the apse there is a small illuminated red light bulb. This marks the spot where one of the three nails of Jesus’ crucifixion was placed, believed to be retrieved by Helena, the mother of Roman Emperor Constantine, after a religious tour of Jerusalem. She is regarded as the one who converted Constantine to Christianity, who, in turn Christianized the Roman Empire. Once a year the nail is presented in a wooden basket for viewings.

1:11 PM: Okay, no more time for breaks. I needed to make up some serious time, with about one minute left to make it to the terrace. My legs felt as heavy as Candoglia marble.  Taking deep breaths, I remembered my wife begging me not to let my membership to my health club expire. Huffing and puffing I was soon met with glorious daylight, 30 seconds ahead of schedule. But somehow it wasn’t what I had expected. Where was the statue of the Madonnina and the flying buttresses? A kind guide noticed my confusion, and informed me that there were still more steps to the terrace, just around the corner.

I hurried to her direction to the base of the final stairway. A tourist gave me a quizzical look. I shouted over my shoulder, “I’m on a mission.” The tourist replied, “This is the Duomo, not a Mission.” Adrenalin kicked it and I began to ascend the final stairs.

1:12 PM: With just seconds left of my allotted ten minutes, I made it victoriously to the terrace. Although there were no medals or applause; my reward was more inconceivable than anything I could ever have imagined: I had just ascended to heaven. Before me was a fairy tale array of openwork pinnacles and spires, set upon delicate flying buttresses. And yes, there was the glorious Madonnina, towering above me. The other tourists on the terrace were serene and respectful, only adding to this other-worldly experience. I recalled a quotation from  Mark Twain:

What a wonder it is!
So grand, so solemn, so vast!
And yet so delicate, so airy, so graceful!
A very world of solid weight, and yet it seems
In the soft moonlight only a fairy delusion of frost-work
That might vanish with a breath!
How sharply its pinnacled angles
And its wilderness of spires were cut against the sky,
And how richly their shadows fell upon its snowy roof!
It was a vision! — a miracle! —
An anthem sung in stone, a poem wrought in marble!”

– Mark Twain

I walked to the ledge for the angel-like view before me. It was a picture perfect day with spectacular vistas of the city and even the snowcapped Swiss Alps in the distance. There was still much to see and do in Milan. But, for the moment, I was in no hurry.

For further information about travel to Milan, logon to Turismo Milano.

The post Up the Staircase to the Top of the Duomo di Milano: Exploring Milan, The City of Now appeared first on Traveling Boy.

A sensory blitz overtakes me as I shamble (yes, the result of that red-eye, early-morning arrival at Heathrow, so I am a little beleaguered) into the very groovy nhow Hotel lobby in Shoreditch, a London neighborhood that has (to quote Wikipedia) “become synonymous with the concept of contemporary ‘hipsterfication’ of regenerated urban areas.”

Is it too ’50s or ’60s to describe the lobby as very kitsch? The brainchild of James Soane of the very forward-, out-of-the-box-thinking of Project Orange, the hotel’s lobby readily invites countless choices upon entry: Should I have a welcoming limeade and biscuits from the “sweets” buffet? Or go over to the seven-foot-tall, cuddly teddy bear (seated in a peacock-back chair), with a big sign around his neck: “Free Hugs?” Do I go to the funky gumball machine and get a few jawbreakers, or waltz into the screaming-scarlet telephone booth, adrift in the middle of the lobby, pretending I’m Superwoman, about to transform my outfit?

Located in a district marked by an industrial past and a technological future (think Silicon Valley, but across The Pond, in a nabe that is a mix of art and tech galleries, artsy and dot-com businesses, and a bustling gentrification of industrial areas), the nhow embraces traditional design touchstones, metabolizing them with gusto and regurgitating them in an unconventional and disruptive way. Here, tradition and innovation collide.

When I get to my room, I see that the reading lamp above a comfy wing chair (upholstered, it would seem, by Jackson Pollack), is a black-metal bowler hat suspended from the ceiling. Punk graffiti adorns the walls of the 190 unique guest rooms, and towels are emblazoned with “King” and “Queen.” The obligatory amenity slippers are flip-flops, embellished with a design pattern of neon-colored, geometric shapes. In the loo is the pièce de resistance: On the wall, facing the commode is a larger than life portrait of Louis Quatorze, with his entire groin pixilated, as if he were naked, and the artist wanted to spare the hotel guest the shock!

Amenities abound. The nhow has more room amenities and toiletries than a posh, five-star property-bath salts, lip balm, and even little packets of throw-in-your-pocket tissues. And lest I forget: The “Do Not Disturb” door-hanger features a somewhat digitized picture of Queen Elizabeth, and alerts housekeeping: “I’m absolutely cream crackered.” (Yes, it means you’re exhausted, so Do Not Disturb.)

The breakfast buffet in the lobby, at the hotel’s open-plan restaurant, Guilty by Olivier London, is also a treat. There is a picture of Winston Churchill at the juice bar, but he’s wearing cat-eye glasses, also pixilated. The dinner menu suggests “less guilt and more foodporn,” and offers up many traditional items — whether tacos, nachos, or a Zen garden bowl, with a sneaky, tasty twist. You will find the staff helpful, eager, and knowledgeable. Yes, these histrionic décor touches also come with hand-holding. Convenience matters, as well: Tube stops for Angel and Old Street are but a ten-minute walk away. A perfect slice of new age heaven in Shoreditch!

Additional info: nhow-hotels.com/en/nhow-london

The nhow brand is but one of the huge hospitality conglomerate, Minor Hotels, which is a global leader in the hospitality industry with more than four decades in the field, and with over 560 hotels, resorts, and branded residences across 57 countries. The group crafts innovative and insightful experiences through its hotel brands: nhow, Anantara, Elewana Collection, The Wolseley Hotels, Tivoli, Minor Reserve Collection, NH Collection, Avani, Colbert Collection, NH, Oaks and iStay.

© 2026 Ruth J. Katz All Rights Reserved
All photos courtesy of nhow Hotel and Ruth J. Katz, as noted.

The post A Hotel that Knows How to Make You Smile: London’s Remarkable nhow appeared first on Traveling Boy.