The back pillow.

I chalk it up to him having come to the US from Cuba on a boat that was overcrowded with passengers, none of whom had bags.

Now he’s overcompensating for the past. Francisco loves gear.

Whether we’re headed out of town for a two week trip or a 24-hour one, the trunk will always be loaded with bags and doodads, gear and gadgets that we “absolutely need” for our journey.
*
It was the back pillow that I thought would drive us to divorce.

I exaggerate… a bit.

Francisco and I disagree on very little, but the one thing that we can never quite see eye to eye on is what, exactly, is needed for a trip.

I’m of the mind that it’s not necessary to travel heavy. These days, you can find almost anything you need when you’re on the road. And traveling, at its best (in my mind, at least), shows you just how little you actually need.

Francisco, on the other hand, thinks one should be prepared for every possible contingency: hunger, boredom, and a worldwide shortage of batteries, to name a few. And if there’s a pillow that will make your back feel better on a journey (and of course, there is), why not use it?

Between the extremes we each cling to, there’s got to be a happy medium.

We just haven’t found it.
**
So yes, the back pillow.

The trunk is loaded. The back seat is stacked with more bags: a bag of CDs, a cooler with meals (meals, not snacks), another sack of snacks, and camera gear.

It doesn’t help that we’ve been sent a pile of gear to review: bags–suitcases, backpacks, and dry bags for camera bodies and lenses; several pairs of shoes each; a jacket each; some clothing; and a pair of expensive sunglasses. “Are you sure you want to give those to me?” I asked the gear rep when she said she was mailing me a pair. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t buy expensive sunglasses because I sit on them or lose them. $10 is my limit.

She sent them anyway.

Now, they’re nestled carefully inside the little compartment above the rearview mirror, the one that is in cars these days, intended for this express purpose: to hold expensive sunglasses with polarized lenses.* By the end of the trip, I will make the begrudging admission (spoiler alert: one of many such admissions) that you get what you pay for; in other words, if you buy $189 sunglasses, you get a $189 experience, rather than the headache that the $10 pair of sunglasses inevitably causes.^

He shuts the trunk, puts Mariel in the car seat, hands me a canteen of coffee, and stands outside the car, taking mental inventory. “Be right back,” he says, disappearing to look for one more thing we just have to have to make the journey bearable.

He returns with the inflatable back pillow.

The back pillow arrived in the mail, along with the dry bags. From the get-go it seemed–to me, at least–one of those supremely superfluous items, the kind of thing that would be sold in an in-flight catalog like SkyMall. I scoffed at it, even though I have back problems. Francisco turned it over and over in his hands like a treasure. He promptly blew it up and then plopped into our office chair, sandwiching the pillow behind his back. The long, drawn-out “Ahhh” and his contented smile (a little too immediate, I thought; don’t these things take time to really test out?) assured me that it would not be easy to hit the road without yet another addition to the ever-growing gear pile.
**
We finally leave New York at 3:20 PM, the worst possible time to make a getaway through the Lincoln or Holland Tunnels. I contemplate mentioning this, but think better of it. Why start a 12-hour road trip with a snide comment to your husband intended to make him feel guilty about how long it took to pack the car… especially when he spent half the day cooking the meal that splits space between the cooler and a hot-cold bag?
**
The 12-hour road trip turns into two days, both coming and going.

The idea was to save money by driving rather than flying, and each night, as we pull into a hotel parking lot, my mental adding machine stutters, ticking up costs.

And each night, Francisco unpacks the car as carefully as he has packed it, convinced that leaving anything in the car will invite thieves.

Even the back pillow.
**
On the way home, we stop at the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial in Washington, D.C. It is a cold, wet day; I should take off my TOMS, Francisco advises, and put on my new boots. And I have choices! There are two pairs of boots in the back seat just for me! I grumble and pull on SmartWool socks and the taller boots, a pair of Ahnu Maderas. My feet stay warm and dry and when we get back into the car, Francisco looks at me and says, “Aren’t you glad I brought your boots?”

“Yes,” I mutter, barely audible. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him smiling.
**
I can not change him and don’t want to… really. Though I haven’t changed my own packing style, I let him keep his style. It makes him happy and, more often than not, we do end up using most of the gear he packs for the journey.

Even the back pillow.
**
The Schwietert-Collazo List of Essential Road Trip Gear%
-Eddie Bauer First Ascent Microtherm Down Shirt:
Though marketed as a shirt, I’ve used this as a jacket all winter, and I adore it; it rolls up super tight, taking up little space in a backpack or suitcase. It’s great for wicking wind and water it zips all the way up the neck, providing total coverage. -Julie

-Ahnu Madera boots:
As noted above, these keep feet warm but breathing, and are easy to get on and off quickly (the laces are really just for show). -Julie

-Men’s and Women’s Teva Forge Pro Winter Mid WP Boots:
These say “winter,” but we both think these are year-round boots that are sturdy for hiking and general rural outdoor use. They’re waterproof– a feature we’ve tested in the Catskills. They also clean off pretty easily. -Francisco

Klean Kanteen Insulated

-Hummingbird Dry Bags:
As we’ve upgraded our camera gear, we’ve come to realize how critical dry bags are, especially in the parts of the world where Julie travels- humid, tropical, wet climates. The WideMouth Carry On is huge–40 L–but great for lots of gear that needs to be protected; it also rolls up quickly and carries on the shoulder easily. Julie is not in love with the Travel Pak, which, she says, doesn’t have the same intuitive design. -Francisco

-Hummingbird Lumbar Pillow:
Even Julie has to admit that this little pillow is wonderful. -Francisco

–
*I don’t even know what “polarized” lenses mean, but the glasses give everything a glossy shimmer, like looking at the world through a thin, rainbow colored film.

^An observation that is an exception to my recent post about luxury not being all it’s cracked up to be. When it comes to gear, the theory does not always hold.

%Note: Most, but not all, of this gear was given to us for free, for review. We like all of it… a lot and have used these items on multiple road trips of varying lengths since November 2011. There’s only one item (and it’s not listed above because it’s definitely NOT essential, and it’s a bamboo water bottle, which is heavy, hard to use, and does not keep hot drinks hot. We don’t get any commission at all from the sale of items that are linked to in this post.

View of Zurich

3:00 PM:
Arrive–finally– at Zurich International Airport after missing a flight from Amsterdam because your train from Centraal Station to Schipol got delayed by a track fire. Try not to feel annoyed you had to pay for a new ticket. Try not to feel annoyed you missed a culinary walking tour.

Notice that your route to baggage claim leads you directly through a duty-free shop– no bypass possible; you are temporarily enshrouded in clouds of perfume and cologne, walking a gantlet of chocolate and watches. Buy nothing; keep walking.

3:20 PM:
Pick up your bags and consider tweeting that European cities are more civilized than American cities simply because they don’t charge for luggage carts in the airport. At home, you always struggle with your bags because you’re too cheap to pay $5 for a cart just to make the trip from baggage claim to the taxi. You’d rather pull a muscle.

3:25 PM:
Head to the airport’s Service Center to pick up a ZurichCard, an all-in-one transportation card, museum visitor’s pass, and restaurant/shopping discount card. Since you’re only here for one day, get the 24-hour card for 20 CHF (there is also a 72-hour card for 40 CHF should you decide to stick around a couple days).

4:00 PM:
Take the train from the airport to Zurich HB, the city’s main station; haul luggage a few blocks and check in at Hotel Glockenhof. You wouldn’t stay here if you weren’t on the tourist board’s dime because, as a writer, you couldn’t afford it at 330 CHF/night (though you note it’s 100 francs cheaper on weekends). You’d Google “budget travel Zurich” or ask around to see if you have a friend of a friend who’d be happy to host you. It’s only one night.

But since you’re not footing the bill, you check in on foursquare and instantly become the Mayor of the Glockenhof before going to your room and wasting no time testing your personal Nescafe machine, spreading out brochures and maps on the bed, and making your game plan, which starts like this: “Take an aimless walk.”

5:00 PM:
Cross the river and pass church spires, climbing the cobblestone streets until you wander into the Occupy movement’s camp. Take photos of the tipi, the pig made out of sheets and wood, painted with “Too Pig To Fail” on its side, and the “UBS, I did it again” sign inked on cardboard, a dual reference, strangely, to Britney Spears and to Swiss bank, UBS, recipient of a bail-out. Think about adding the photos to your set of Occupy pictures from three countries. Post one on Facebook for your mom, who marched with a small Occupy group in the southern US, only for her to post back: “When are you going to stop taking photos and write something about it?”

6:00 PM:
Use your ZurichPass for free entry to the Design Museum (Museum Fur Gestaltung). [Note: Museum is open until 8 pm on Wedesday; it closes at 5 PM Tuesday and Thursday-Sunday]. Go through an exhibit about global high-rises quickly but with great interest; mind makes screenshot-type mental notes based on key words from curator’s text: “sustainable urbanism”; “symbolic height”; “extracts land from the sky”; “brutalist pragmatism.” Think about impossibility of fully “getting” a place when we don’t live there. Think about possibility of fully getting a place when we do live there.

7:20 PM:
Meet Elizabeth, the guide who was supposed to take you on the culinary walking tour, for dinner at Zurich’s oldest vegetarian restaurant, Hiltl. She tells you you can graze at the Indian buffet on the first floor or eat from the a la carte menu; you choose the latter, asking for a vegetable au gratin. Notice Hiltl’s advertisements: a menagerie of carnivores with rabbit teeth, and think there’s something about this that’s a little bit brilliant.

9:00 PM:
Leave Hiltl, en route to Peclard, which is the kind of place Willy Wonka would run if he was urbane and chic but still eccentric. Decide you’ll sit in the “Salon Rouge,” where an Asian woman is playing piano, an older white man is playing saxophone, and an Argentinean opera tenor is alternating turns at the mic with the very tall Swiss waiter, who swings by your table between numbers to ask which dessert you want. Wonder how they all got here. Wonder what their stories are.

11:30 PM:
Return to hotel. Write. Read. Plan for remaining hours in the city. Turn on TV; realize that every channel is in a language you don’t understand, and wonder whether that’s better or worse when you were just looking for white noise.

8:15 AM:
Realize you missed Seun Kuti and Egypt 80 playing right around the corner last night. You were told that the venue, Kaufleuten, is a restaurant, bar, and “culture club” for Zurich’s creative class. “Madonna likes to visit,” a guide told you, and you realized you were supposed to be impressed.

9:00 AM:
Eat muesli and a luxemburgerli at Sprungli. Feel dreadfully underdressed as you watch Swiss matriarchs glide into the upper floor’s restaurant in furs, with little dogs tucked under their arms. Wonder how the Colombian immigrant seated at the table next to you, interviewing for a waiter job, feels when he sees the women, how he feels when the manager tells him the average salary is 3500 CHF a month, more if he makes good tips.

Coffee at Sprungli

10:00 AM:
Head to Zurich West and walk through Viadukt, a market and series of shops built under an old viaduct. Visit Freitag’s shop, inside a series of containers from transfer trucks, and climb to the top container for a view of the city. Walk to Spheres, a cafe/bookstore. Buy a postcard for your two year old daughter and a book of Ai Wei Wei’s blog entries… in English. Snap two iPhone photos of friends’ books and send them across the twitterverse. See jazz club, Moods, and the whole arts complex and feel regret you won’t be here longer.

1:00 PM:
Buy a bag of hot, roasted chestnuts, the first you’ve ever eaten. Decide these are your new favorite snack. Later, you’ll try them at home in New York and they won’t taste remotely the same and you’ll feel annoyed and nostalgic and, at the same time, strangely pleased that you can’t replicate the experience.

1:12 PM:
Buy your husband a watch–the official timepiece of the Swiss Railway–and think he will be sufficiently impressed. When he puts it on for the first time, it will catch on his coat, breaking a part called the “stem and crown.” You will send it off for repairs, which will cost half the price of the watch itself. When it comes back, the stem and crown will be different and you’ll mention this to the shopkeeper, who will tell you “It doesn’t matter; it’s the same manufacturer.”

2:00 PM:
Spend your last hour in Zurich at the Kunsthaus Museum and feel dizzied by the number of works you want to see before you have to leave. Skip “Monet, Miro, Matisse” and go for artists who are more obscure to you. Feel wonder and thanks for pieces you’ve never seen, for seeing new themes in works from eras you thought were fairly staid. Take photos using instagram.

Plan to come back.

$1,800. That’s more than the monthly rent for my apartment in New York City.

Though it’s true, the view from my apartment isn’t quite as good as this:

A $900-a-night view.

I let the tap run for five minutes, seven, and then I give up. “Maybe it’s solar,” I think to myself, looking for any excuse that will let me forgive this five-star hotel that has the cajones to charge up to $1,800 per night. I jump under the cold, needling stream of water and shower as quickly as I can. When I get out, I realize there are no slippers.
*
There are other things. When I wake up in the middle of the night, I can’t read the clock; its display is not lit. Also, its radio doesn’t work. When I take to twitter and christen an admittedly acerbic hashtag– “#luxeisntalwaysbetter”– the hotel chain’s resident tweeter responds with an overly polite “What can we do to improve your stay?” When I refrain from saying “Get me a personal butler who’ll heat some water and pour it over me” and say instead, “Just explain why there’s no hot water,” there’s no response. I lick my pencil and make another black mark.
*
I can stay in almost any type of lodging.

In the past six months alone, I’ve slept on two buses, in mid-level chain hotels, bed and breakfasts, boutique hotels, hotels in nearly every star category, and a tent. I can be comfortable in any of them and I don’t compare them against one another; each is evaluated only against its own description: what it holds out as a promise to its guests.

The-five star places always fail.

What are guests paying for when they pay $900-$1,800 a night for a room?

The idea that somehow, they are more valuable. The idea, quite simply, that they can.
*

**
The tagline of our blog is “Stories about overlooked people and places.” More than a tagline–much more–Francisco and I spend most of our time living in what poet Stanley Kunitz called “the layers.” We believe that everyone has stories to share and that those stories have meaning, even when they lack the platform to tell those stories to anyone.

This year, I’ve had the opportunity to travel to extraordinary places and to have exceptional experiences. I’ve met with Michelin-starred chefs and interviewed a First Lady, and have been grateful for and have enjoyed those experiences. But I’ve never forgotten about all the people we tend to not see, the ones who keep the front-of-house shiny, the ones who keep the big names going.

“Nobody talks to the maid” is like a lot of my projects– it started with a concept but without an end point or a particular outlet or even purpose. This fall, I started taking iPhone photos of the people we tend to overlook in our travels, the people who really make our experiences of the exceptional possible. I haven’t interviewed them or asked their names or their position; my photos have been surreptitious, a product of my own discomfort about approaching them and crossing the invisible barrier that separates us. That’s the next step of this work in progress- confronting my anxiety and engaging the “subjects” of my photos to become co-creators of something… though what, yet, I’m not exactly sure. A portrait project, perhaps?

The title, “Nobody talks to the maid,” is borrowed from a friend who is a writer. At one point in her writing career, she supported herself by working as a hotel maid. It was a job, she says, where she felt nearly invisible, either unnoticed and unacknowledged or objectified.

A hotel worker in Zurich

A hotel worker in Zurich

Cleaning employees at the Mexico City airport

An employee at a hotel in Washington, D.C.

One of Amsterdam's many bikes

I’ve actually been to Amsterdam and Zurich before.

Zurich when I was 16 or so, after winning a travel scholarship. Amsterdam when I was in college, after spotting a major fare sale and talking my roommate, Drew, into a long weekend in Europe.

After receiving an invitation from the Netherlands Board of Tourism and Conventions to return to these two cities for a visit, I started thinking about those earlier trips: What did I remember of them?

The answer: Very little.

Those were the days before multifunction mobile devices were pervasive, so the iPhone can’t be blamed. I wasn’t distracted from seeing the war monument in Dam Square because I was busy checking in on foursquare. (And no, if you’re wondering, I wasn’t smoking my way through Amsterdam’s cafes, or drinking for that matter, so substance use can’t be blamed, either).

Drew and I communicate mainly via twitter these days, so I asked him: What do you remember about our trip to Amsterdam?

He answered:

Ok, so maybe we did drink a little.*

But seriously, why do I remember almost nothing about either of these cities, either of those trips? What I do remember seems strange because the memories are fragments of tiny, seemingly insignificant details: the way the leaves pooled on the edges of Amsterdam’s canals, creating watery canvases of fiery reds and oranges; the steps leading up to the hostel where we stayed; the airplane logo of Schipol Airport. And here in Zurich today, nothing seems familiar. I can’t dredge up a single memory- just the recollection of a train ride through the Alps to get here. Or did I dream that?

The inability to pull up recollections has unsettled me this week, as I look for something–anything, really–to spark a memory that will confirm I was here before. What other details and experiences have I forgotten, not just from those trips, but from the many trips in the decade and a half since? The failure to remember isn’t due to a lack of attention. I’m so observant, ready for the moment of ordinary reverence, that it’s exhausting.

This is the way I remember my travels, I think- not in big, momentous flashes, but in tiny moments, in details that aren’t really important to anyone else, in things barely seen by long warehoused in my mind, and in things deeply looked at but forgotten years later, until a friend helps bring some of it back.

I’d love to know how you store your travel memories- both abstractly in your own mind, and tangibly, too. Share yours in the comments, if you please.

–
*but only a little. Drew can confirm that I was a reluctant drinker. The first and only time I got wasted was also my last. If you want that story, you’ll have to friend him on twitter and he can serialize it in 140 characters.

The popular "I amsterdam" installation in Museumplein.

Amsterdam is dense with museums, which is hardly surprising, given that the Dutch lay claim to some serious art world heavyweights, both classical (Rembrandt, Vermeer, and Van Gogh, to name a few) and contemporary (Scarlett Hooft Graafland, for one). Beyond art, the city’s long, complicated history lends itself to endless interpretation and reinterpretation.

The Amsterdam Tourism and Convention Board indicates there are more than 50 museums in the city; I guess I didn’t do too badly, as I managed to get to six of them.

Here’s a quick guide to three art museums and three history museums, all easily accessible by public transport, by bike, or by foot, and all “doable” during a short visit to Amsterdam.

ART MUSEUMS

Rijksmuseum

Rijksmuseum:
Vermeer, Rembrandt, and the other Dutch masters are the main attraction for most visitors, though many of the museum’s most famous holdings are not currently on display; the museum is undergoing a massive renovation that will last through 2012.

Personally, I thought “The Night Watch” was a bit anti-climactic, especially after seeing exquisite, lesser-known pieces like Christoph Ritter’s silver and gold-plated globes from the 17th century, a recent acquisition, and a series of 17th century works about Brazil by Frans Post.

Address: Jan Luijkenstraat 1
Website: Rijksmuseum
Inside Tip: Now through December 31, the museum is hosting a competition that will result in awarding an interesting prize: dinner in front of Rembrandt’s famed “The Night Watch.” You can submit your entry here.

Van Gogh Museum

Van Gogh Museum:
The Van Gogh Museum is a spacious modern building with three floors of art works spanning all stages of the artist’s relatively short career. What was surprising to me was how much of the collection consisted of other artists’ works; the museum places special emphasis on painters who influenced Van Gogh, as well as his contemporaries, Gauguin in particular.

I especially enjoyed a temporary exhibit about the analysis and restoration of Van Gogh’s “The Bedroom,” (on through January 15, 2012), which raises compelling questions about the role of conservation and restoration in maintaining important art work for future generations. It also underscored how much we can still learn about artists we think we know so well.

I also loved seeing the work, “Basket of Pansies,” which is not loaned out by the museum because of its fragility.

Address: Paulus Potterstraat 7
Website: Van Gogh Museum
Inside Tip: Visit this museum after the Rijksmuseum, as they’re located near one another. On Fridays, the Van Gogh Museum has later hours than most museums (it’s open until 10 PM) and it has special programming, including DJ or live music presentations and guided tours.

Also, this is the only museum I visited where I could access free WiFi.

Huis Marseille Museum voor Fotografie:

This museum is located in a canal-side house in the city center. With four floors for exhibits, a library, a serve-yourself coffee spot, and a quiet garden, this was a welcome respite from the crush of crowds at Rijksmuseum and Van Gogh.

I think I would have enjoyed the current exhibit- large format photographs by Dutch artist Scarlett Hooft Graafland- without the accompanying curatorial observations, which seemed insistent upon shaping the visitor’s interpretations of the photographer’s work.

Still, I found Graafland’s photos, which were shot in Bolivia, China, Canada, and Iceland and are modified landscapes, strangely compelling.

Address: Keizersgracht 401
Website: Huis Marseille
Inside Tip: If you have a bag or camera you can’t carry it with you through the exhibit, and you’ll need a euro coin to place your items in a locker. Also, if it has reopened during your visit, you may want to walk a couple blocks further and visit FOAM, another photography museum. It was closed for an installation during my time in Amsterdam.

HISTORY MUSEUMS

Anne Frank Museum:
It feels almost blasphemous to say so, but I found this museum underwhelming. The opportunity to learn from history and understand the effects of intolerance is largely lost here, as the majority of the museum is empty. Museum materials explain that Anne Frank’s father, Otto, was eager for the museum to be built, but strongly preferred that the house where he and his family hid remained as it was after the family was betrayed and the SS removed them as well as their personal effects.

Understandably, the museum is a popular tourist attraction and there is always a line to get in. Museum administrators might consider a limit on the number of people allowed in at any given time; reading and learning from the limited material that was presented was difficult, as there were so many visitors jostling for space.

Address: Prinsengracht 267
Website: Anne Frank Museum
Inside Tip: If you’re short on time, skip this museum entirely.

Jewish Historical Museum

The exhibits are engaging and well-organized, with text about objects and installations presented in Dutch and English.

The history of the space itself is also interesting; the museum is housed inside a complex of what were once four Ashkenazi synagogues. Across the street is the Portuguese Synagogue, which was one of only two synagogues that was left untouched by the Nazis during World War II.

Address: Nieuwe Amstelstraat 1
Website: Jewish Historical Museum
Inside Tip: Grab the free audio guide at the desk after getting your entrance ticket.

Museum Van Loon:
As an American, it’s nearly impossible to wrap my mind around the idea of a homestead that has been in the same family since the 1600s, but there you have it: that’s what the Museum Van Loon is. “Oh, Mrs. Van Loon is here almost every day,” a staff member told me when I asked about the current generation of the family whose forebears established the Dutch East India Company way back in the day, before America was even a flash in a pilgrim’s eye.

This is one of those museums that’s not for everybody. If you’re not interested in displays of fine china, family portraits, or over-the-top boudoirs, then you should find yourself another museum. But if you’re into this kind of thing, you’ll find it interesting enough. The recently opened coach house (as in opened the day before I visited) underscores how high on the hog the Van Loons lived, displaying carriages and coachmen’s uniforms for nearly every occasion imaginable.

Address: Keizersgracht 672
Website: Museum Van Loon
Inside Tip: Visit this museum after (or before) the Huis Marseille, which is on the same street.

QUICK TIP: You’ll save time and money by purchasing an “I amsterdam” City Pass, which is an all-in-one transport and cultural attractions pass.

You can buy the card before you arrive in Amsterdam or once you’re in the city. A list of places where you can buy the card, as well as plans and rates (there are 24, 48, and 72 hour cards), can be found here.

Have a favorite Amsterdam museum? Tell us about it in the comments.

There’s the poor house for single women in need, centuries old, a model of social welfare. There’s the district that was home to a large Jewish population before Hitler and his Holocaust insisted its way into the Netherlands. And there’s Willem’s own story; he’s married to a Brazilian woman, his daughter is married to an Egyptian man, and his grandchildren are, in his words, “the best example of what a multicultural society like the Netherlands can produce.”

“We’re not more tolerant because we’re morally superior,” he concludes. “We’re just more clever.”

Despite my peripheral knowledge of anomalies suggesting that tolerance isn’t entirely the rule here (the murder of Theo van Gogh and the recent rise of a far right, anti-immigrant political party being two notable exceptions), I am inclined to believe him.

One of Amsterdam's many sex shops.

Willem explains that the Dutch have always been clever when it comes to issues that seem to stymie other governments. The Dutch, he says, recognize that: (1) when a government legalizes what’s typically illicit or in great demand, it actually has more control over said activity, and (2) it can often make a tidy little sum of money by regulating that activity.

Understanding this strategy helps explain lots about Amsterdam, and not just prostitution and pot smoking.* Why are so many canal-side houses so narrow? Because homes with a view of the canal have long been so popular that the government realized it could charge taxes based on the size of the house. Why has immigration rarely been the flashpoint issue it is in many other countries? Because the Dutch recognize immigrants do the jobs they don’t want anymore, jobs that someone has to do.

Pragmatism and profit over attachment to ideology- that’s what I take away as I walk through Amsterdam for the first time in 15 years. I’m eager to learn more, though. Impressions after a three and a half hour walk with just one person interpreting history may help begin decoding the complex history of place, but can never fully explain it.

*both of which, by the way, are currently being scrutinized anew by Dutch government. Even tighter controls are being advocated for pot smoking, as Dutch marijuana is, according to Willem, at least 10 times stronger than “regular pot” and, as such, the current government thinks it should be classified as a “hard” drug. The anticipation of a crackdown on coffee shops where pot is sold has led the shops to begin a brisk trade in mushrooms, which are not yet in the hard category.

**

“You’re alone?”

I’d seen him when I scoped out available seats in the gradas, way up in the nosebleed section, and I’d watched him watch me throughout the first bull fight. The way he asked wasn’t sinister or sexual, just slightly incredulous. Since it was obvious that no male companion was coming to join me (and, admittedly, since I sometimes enjoy being perceived as a bad-ass solo traveler who happens to be female), I looked him in the eyes and said, “Si, estoy sola.” He smiled and asked me if I wanted a beer.

“No, gracias,” I said, and showed him the thick gold band on my left ring finger. He laughed and threw his hands up in a “Well, it was worth a try” gesture.

Then, I turned back to the ring, ready for the next fight.
*
“What about your husband? Is he here, too?”

It’s late and I don’t know the city well enough to get myself out of a sketchy situation. I don’t like the way he’s asked the question, all falsely suave and casual. And most importantly, I’ve violated my own timeworn rule about choosing a taxi driver–never a young guy with spiky hair. Always an old guy with rosaries and scapulars looped over his rearview.

“Yeah, he’s at the hotel,” I lie. “He’s waiting for me right now.”

We’re pulling up to the plaza where my hotel is. “Do you want me to go around the block and drop you off right at the hotel door?”

No, I don’t want that at all. As I pay the fare and open the door, I feel lucky. I don’t even care that he didn’t use the meter and overcharged me.
**
Somehow, this conversation has taken a bizarre turn.

“You know, you need to go home and warm up your husband,” the taxi driver taking me to the airport says. He looks at me in the rearview mirror, which falls off right after he winks at me. “A man has needs,” he says. “What do you think he’s doing at home, anyway? If you’re not home to warm him up….” He sticks the mirror back on the windshield and gives me another look.

I contemplate walloping him with a feminist rant, but the very thought is exhausting. Feminist rants aren’t often effective, anyway. Instead, I ask, “What about men, who have traveled alone for work for years?” He laughs. “Sure. There are solutions for that,” he says, shooing away the woman who wants to clean his windshield at the stoplight. “Haven’t you ever been… tempted?” he asks.

“Actually, no,” I say, relieved we’re finally at the airport.

**
Lots has been written about solo female travel.

Far less has been written about traveling solo as a woman who is married, but whose partner is at home.

Safety-wise, most, if not all, of the same tips for solo female travel apply to the married woman whose partner isn’t along for the trip.

But in many ways, I think the married woman traveling alone has even more to deal with than her solo female travelers who are not in a relationship. The anecdotes above were all from a single trip made during the past month, but I’ve had many similar conversations on other occasions in various countries. Many men I meet while I’m traveling simply can’t understand why a married woman would travel alone, much less why–in their words–”your husband would let you.”

To explain the answers to either of those questions–whether they’re stated or implied– would take a lot of time because they’re not simple and don’t fit expectations or stereotypes. But frankly, I don’t want to have to explain the answers because what right does the person who’s asking me why I’m traveling alone and leaving my side of the marital bed cold have to raise those questions in the first place?

Traveling alone as a married woman invites all sorts of speculation, none of it positive. I must be trying to escape something. My husband must be happy I’m gone; it gives him time to dally about with other women. Our marriage must have problems. I must be meeting male seat mates on planes, or married men at a hotel bar, or desperate singles over something as romantic as a bull fight, allowing them to sweep me off my bored, married feet and into their beds.

The only problem is that none of this is true.

I’m not headed anywhere with this- I don’t have any “Top 10 Tips” to dispense or any witty comebacks that have become my stock responses in these exchanges. I’d love your thoughts, though. How would you (or how do you) respond in these types of situations?

Though I was headed to the airport, on my way home, in less than an hour, it would be 12 more hours before I’d be back in New York with my family. They were having an emergency, I wasn’t sure what it was, and I couldn’t get home any faster even if I did. I sent a quick email full of spelling errors to a New York friend, asking her to check in on Francisco and Mariel; then, I hopped in a taxi, bound for the airport.

I’ve been traveling on back-to-back trips since mid-September and only one of those four trips has involved my family coming along with me. So much time away from them has helped me become more attentive to how important it is to take care of your family at home while you’re traveling abroad. There are steps to take before, during, and after the trip to make sure that they’re as safe as happy as they can be while you’re off in the world; here are a few that I implement consistently:

BEFORE THE TRIP
1. Make sure your partner has your travel information.
Making sure your partner has your flight or transportation details, the name and contact information for the places you’re staying, and at least a rough outline of your overall itinerary can go a long way toward lessening his/her anxiety, loneliness, or sense of worry. I email Francisco a copy of all of my travel plans and update him during the trip if something important changes.

Francisco and Mariel

3. Set expectations about frequency and method of communication.
It’s much easier for your child and partner to cope with not hearing from you if they know there’s a chance you’ll be in an area without Internet and/or phone access. Try to tell them this in advance, though.

4. Have a trusted friend to help in an emergency.
Here’s hoping you’ll never need it, but should your family have an emergency, you and your partner should both have a designated contact person through whom you can communicate.

DURING THE TRIP
1. Keep in contact.
If you’ve set expectations about when you’ll be communicating, keep your word and follow through. When I’m traveling without my family, we try to connect briefly each morning and for a longer period each night for a video chat on Skype. If our schedules don’t line up because of time zone differences or a change in my itinerary, I at least try to send a quick message saying what the change is and when they can expect to hear from me again.

2. Be honest about changes, but try to keep worry at a minimum.
During my Mexico trip, I had to take an eight hour trip on a night bus, through the mountains… twice. This was definitely not part of my plan, and it didn’t exactly thrill Francisco, who worried for my safety. I would have preferred not to have told him until afterward, but I knew that (1) someone needed to know where I was and (2) he’d be more worried not to hear from me at all. Whatever your partner needs to know you’re ok, try to give it to him/her.

3. Do little things to let your family know you’re thinking of them.
I was in Spain, Belize, and then Mexico, having incredible experiences, while my husband and our daughter stayed home in a rainy New York. Whenever possible, I tried to do little things to let them know I was thinking of them. For Francisco, this meant writing an email when I got to Guadalajara to say that my return to that city made me think of time we spent there several years earlier. It also meant sending him pictures of Cuban athletes from the Pan American Games.

4. Buy souvenirs.
We don’t really need any more dust collectors in our home, but when I can find a useful or thoughtful gift–coffee from Chiapas, a hat from Madrid, a pin from the Pan American Games–I pick it up so that Francisco and Mariel know that they were on my mind.

5. Rest on the way home.
If you have a long trip home, try to sleep or at least recover some of your energy so you return home fresh. Your family’s probably going to be thrilled to see you and excited about spending time with you; if you’re exhausted, that’s a total downer for them.

AFTER THE TRIP

1. Set aside special time for your family.
Having come back from almost three weeks of travel, it was critical that I return home and spend some quality catch-up time with my family. I stayed off the computer for the weekend and we made plans to go to a retreat center with some friends. As much as my inbox needed my attention, my family needed it a lot more.

2. Share the experiences with them when they’re ready.
Your family is probably interested in knowing what you experienced without them, but they may not exactly be ready for a slideshow of hundreds of photos as soon as you walk in the door. Let them tell you when they’re ready to hear all about your adventures.

3. Ask about their experiences, too.
Though their adventures at home might not have been as epic as yours, demonstrate interest in what they were up to while you were away.

Have your own tips for taking care of your family while you’re traveling? Share them in the comments.

Guadalajara inaugurates the 2011 Pan American Games

“Que tal Guadalajara?” I ask the taxi driver as we leave the airport en route to Del Carmen Concept Hotel, where I’ll be staying for the next three nights. I was last here in 2008, updating a guide to Guadalajara for Gayot, and I’m wondering how the city has changed since then.

“Uuf,” he replies. I wait for elaboration, but it’s slow in coming and vague when it finally arrives. “It’s changed bastante,” he says. I want him to say more, to say how it has changed and to analyze those changes from his place behind the wheel, but he refrains, which may be smart. When your city is hosting an international sporting event in a time when your country is under intense scrutiny, perhaps you can’t afford to be overly free with your opinions. Either that, or he just prefers the quiet.

The taxi driver won’t have much of that this week; today is the opening of the Pan American Games and everything is motion and buzz. Runners are sporting the flame in the traditional relay; as I approach the city, the flame is approaching it, too. The country’s biggest names in music– Vicente Fernandez and Alejandro Fernandez– are surely warming up their vocal cords in preparation for their performances tonight.

My press credential for the Pan Am Games

And I’m among them.

For the next three days, I’ll be covering the Pan Am Games for this site, as well as for Matador.

I hope you’ll follow along. I’ll also be on twitter, checking in on foursquare and Gowalla, and posting photos on instagram and flickr.

Have questions about the Games? Please leave them in the comments and I’ll do my best to answer them.