Fell on Black Days

I was left behind. How it happened, I'm not sure.

Traveling along in my life minding my own business trying to live up to my responsibilities and expectations, and it happened.

The alarm on my iPhone started singing Fell on Black Days by Soundgarden. I laid there and listened to the words cuz I wasn't ready to face another day of the same shit. On a side note, I find it strange I can sing the correct lyrics to thousands of songs yet I never listen to the words. Anyway, I just woke up one day (a generic Thursday, I think) after 100s of days in a row of waking up after completing the same tasks as I had completed the day before. Faceless people I loiter with call it, the "same ol' same ol '". I was just shuffling along with the rest of the cattle heading toward the feed trough one day and I woke up. I woke up.

This can't be my life? You know, the one that was going to set the world on fire, amass riches beyond comprehension, cure cancer. That life. I stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the light. I looked into the mirror and saw a person I didn't even recognize, the reflection of some total stranger was standing in my bathroom looking back at me. It was uncomfortable seeing this man I didn't know. The man I had become. What happened? Where was I while this metamorphosis took place?

I knew the answers before my clouded mind could generate the questions. Depression would be the medical term, I suppose, if I were to see a doctor. Surely, he would write a perscription for some sort of emotion balancing chemical. You know, the kind that has more crippling side effects than curative medicinal qualities. Doctors are great this way, if you have an ailment or even the thought of an ailment then they have a script for you. And then they will kindly offer curative measures for the side effects. It's an endless cycle of perscriptions, dosage adjustments, and doctor's visits, temporary symptomatic Band-aids.

My problem probably could have been altered with one of these "happy pills", but my problem didn't need a Band-aid laced with a side effect. I needed to change what society, the government, my job, my community and my family had asked me to become. What I had allowed myself to become. I needed to make ME right.

I found it in reading, learning and experiencing travel. I burst my own bubble and stepped outside the lines. And felt young again. I may not cure cancer or die with the most toys, but I promised myself something better, a full life. And I'm living that promise.

I was wondering, can you say the same about yourself?

Email me at thetravelvalet@gmail.com or contact me through this blog or http://www.thetravelvalet.com/ if you would like your reflection to represent the real you.

Happy Travel,
Al, the Travel Valet

Did You Know? The Ancient Greeks didn't pray or give eulogies at burials. They only asked one question when they buried their dead. Did he live with passion?

Need Washing?

A friend forwarded me this story while I was in the midst of a painful day. The flawless timing of the email shook me a bit. I accidentally erased the email so I am retelling the story based on memory. Please forgive me if I altered it a bit.

A little girl had been shopping with her Mom in Target. She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful red haired, freckle faced image of innocence. It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout. A small crowd had formed under the awning and just outside the door of the Target. We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature had messed up their harried day.

I am always mesmerized by rainfall and got lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories of running, splashing barefoot so carefree as a child came pouring in as a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day. The little voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance I was caught in...

"Mom let’s run through the rain," the little red-headed girl said.

"What?" Mom asked.
"Lets run through the rain!" She repeated.
"No, honey. We’ll wait until it slows down a bit,’ Mom replied.
This young child waited about another minute and repeated, "Mom, let’s run through the rain."
"We’ll get soaked if we do," Mom said.
"No, we won’t, Mom. That’s not what you said this morning," the young girl tugged at her mom’s arm.
"This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet"?

"Don’t you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said , If God can get us through this, he can get us through anything!"
The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you couldn’t hear anything but the rain. We all stood silently. No one came or left in the next few minutes. Mom paused and thought for a few moments about what she would say.

Now, some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child’s life. A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith. Mom handled it well.

"Honey, you are absolutely right. Let’s run through the rain. If GOD let’s us get wet, well maybe we just needed washing," Mom said.

Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and through the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case. They got soaked. Then, amazingly, others followed. Adults running, screaming and laughing like children all the way to their cars. And yes, I did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.

Circumstances or people can take away your material possessions, they can take away your money, and they can take away your health. But no one can ever take away your precious memories.

I HOPE YOU TAKE THE TIME TO RUN THROUGH THE RAIN.

Al, the Travel Valet

Bitten by the Bug

Many people have asked me when I had been bit by the travel bug. My patented answer has always been "before I can remember". As lame as that answer is, it's the truth. One of my two earliest memories includes a snapshot quick vacation. I remember standing inside the gates of Disneyland in the summer of 1969 attempting to line up a picture of Cinderella's castle with my Brownie camera. The summer was abuzz with astronaut excitement. Neil Armstrong and Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin were a week away from walking on the moon. My father, a photographer, decided to take his young family to California for a short vacation before a Life Magazine assignment in Cocoa Beach, Florida. I was 4 years old.

Even though, I don't recall exactly when I had been bit, I do remember the moment I realized I had been infected by the bug's powerful toxin. Early June 1974. In the early days following the graduation of third grade, I had been called home by the "neighborhood alert system". We middle-aged folks raised in the 60's and 70's understand the the powers of the NAS. It was how your parents called you home, before cell phones. They would stand out on the front porch and yell. Even if you were out of earshot, someone would hear the call and pass it along if they knew the direction the neighborhood children had run. All children knew not to ignore the NAS.

I was in the creek behind the Fire House catching crayfish with my best friend. I never understood why we captured these pinching mudbugs. We always released them after one of the prehistoric-looking monsters brought blood to our waterlogged fingers...it was probably a rite of manhood. I'll have to ponder that a while.

Anyway, the NAS found me quickly and I knew to run. It wasn't anywhere near dinnertime and I had not been issued any edicts, which only meant one thing, something was wrong. Though muddy water and trepidation weighted down my legs, I knew not to dally. My dad, who spent as many as 280 days a year on the road, was home. And he despised childish loitering.

I walked headlong into a buzzsaw and, as long as I live, I will never forget the next few hours. It went down like this.......

"Where have you been?" My dad asked the question as he examined my sodden legs and bloody fingertips. It was easy to sense something bad had happened. My stomach was churning bile. I suddenly felt very ill and my father noticed the immediate change in my demeanor. I could see a familiar glare in his eyes. I was guilty of...something.

"In the creek by the Fire Station. The firemen feed scraps to the crawdads. Some of them get this big." I held out my fingers four inches apart.

"How long have you boys been in the creek?" My father was interrogating, but I was sure I had already been convicted. I knew the routine all too well. My heart sank.

"Uh," I looked at my fingertips trying to judge the pruning against my many hours in the pool. "Maybe two hours or, Uhhh, a little less." I wasn't sure. It could have been 45 minutes or 4 hours.

"Well, I have my doubts about 2 hours." His eyes bore into me.

"I'm not exactly sure about the time." Faltering before even before the accusation.

"Don't you have something to tell me?"

"Uh, Uh, Uh...no?" The stuttering answer came out like a question. My son must be lying my father reasoned or he wouldn't be so apprehensive to answer. He asked me several more times and my responses became less and less convincing. I was crying and begging forgiveness in less than five minutes. I still didn't know my crime. Admittedly, I was no angel as a child and could be a headstrong handful. Everyone else, my brothers, mother and the nosey neighborhood waited out by the gallows hoping to see a hanging.

In an effort to shorten the story, I was accused and convicted of throwing a baseball through a window across the street. I denied the crime vehemently which caused the bigger problem for me. In the opinion of the neighborhood, I was lying. And in my household, this was a crime punishable by death. I wore that "Scarlet Letter" for the duration of my adolescence.

You may ask, what does this have to do with the travel bug? Well, while the crime didn't turn out to be earth "shattering." The punishment was. My dad forbade me to travel with him that summer. That was the moment I knew had the disease. The punishment crushed me.

He was a freelance photo journalist about to leave on a photo shoot for National Geographic. Walter Cronkite of CBS had stirred up renewed interest in the UNICEF mission and their struggle with poverty-stricken children in eastern Africa. He was going to take me along. I had traveled with him the year before to some harsh, wind-blown ports of the North Sea. He photo documented some grotesque whaling practices. For three weeks, I couldn't breathe. Horrified, terrified and loving every second. Being the eldest son and in Texan parlance, I had just been denied a birth right.

It took a year to figure out that Roger, a younger kid who lived around the corner, broke the window. My family never understood how much the accusation, conviction and punishment affected me. I became a different person...cynical, suspicious and addicted to travel.

Have a great day!

Al, the Travel Valet

College Football? Why Don't You Get It?

Sorry I've been gone sooo long. Sometimes LIFE gets in the way.

I was talking to a New Yorker the other day. He was coming out of his pants excited about the upcoming football season. Growin' up in Texas where football is a seven day a week religion not just a Sunday morning commitment, I understood his excitement. Trying to be cordial I asked him which team he rooted for and he barked, "The ___ New York ___ Giants, of course..." He added the typical east coast linguistic flavor to his response which I chose to edit out. He rambled on, but I quit listening (seems the Giants have built a new stadium). He didn't ask me anything about my football preferences and I'm glad he didn't. He just wouldn't understand. I know these things only cuz I've been down that road before and it is a long, bumpy road filled with Volkswagen-sized potholes. Not good traveling.

The brief conversation got me thinking.

I know New Yorkers think their five boroughs make up the center of the universe. And to some degree, their arguments are understandable. Gotham boasts world class culture, cuisine and diversity. But one is remiss to think New York is the cat's pajamas when it comes to sports. Yes, they have the Yankees who have won something like 35 out of the 105 or so World Series. They also have the Mets, Knicks, Nets, Jets and the ___ New York ___ Giants. They also have one leg of horse racing's Triple Crown in the Belmont as well as the world's largest tennis tournament in the US Open. One may think I have presented a great argument for Gotham City. Well, you are wrong.

Did you know...the 11 largest stadiums in the country were built specifically for college football and account for 11 of the world's largest 18 stadiums. Did you know every Saturday from September through December these eleven behemoths are filled to the rafters with rabid college football fans.

Did you know...approximately 975,000 fans attend NFL games each week while more than 2,100,000 witness college football firsthand every single weekend. That's 2.1 million folks; 2.5 times the NFL.

Have you ever been to a Texas/Oklahoma game in Dallas during the State Fair? Or the Army/Navy game? Or the Michigan/Ohio State game at the end of the season? I have. I have also been to a Cowboy/Redskin game and a Cowboy/Giant game when the teams were great and guess what...there is no comparison. Not even close. Compare the Kentucky Derby with a three furlong quarter horse race and you'll begin to see what I'm talking about. The energy, fan participation and pageantry of a college football game rivals the NFL playoffs every single weekend. It's not even close.

New York will never understand.

Enjoy the football season.

Al, the Travel Valet

Tapas Crawl in Barcelona

Tasting, smelling and savoring culture in one of the world's most atmospheric, relaxed and casually chic cities is what I would call a very, very good day. And, to me, tapas exemplifies this with sophisticated yet unpretentious Catalan style. I love everything about Barcelona's independently-minded, bohemian, modernista style and what better way to absorb this vibe than to consume it.

For those in search of a truly authentic and memorable night in Barcelona, a tapas crawl is essential. Basically, you simply head from bar to bar, enjoying one plate of food and one drink in each joint. For me, there is no better way to sample the food of the city, meet new people, enjoy the ones your with and capture the essence of the city. As the sociable air that pervades all tapas restaurants inevitably comes out in full as the night wears on, lose yourself in Catalonia.

Here is where I would crawl...

Cal Pep - This is definitely where to start. And it may be the gastronomical highlight of the entire crawl. This is probably the most popular tapas bar in the city with tourists and locals alike. It's getting in the door here that seems to be the issue. It's not uncommon for Cal Pep to have a line out the door and around the corner. Just squeeze up to the bar and enjoy a plate of the tastiest gourmet seafood tapas in the city with a glass of cava, the Catalan version of champagne. You will be glad you started your evening off here. My tapas pick: trifasic (combo of calamari, prawns and whitefish).

Bar Pinotxo - This bar located in the Mercat de la Boqueria near the La Rambla entrance bustles with locals and tourists. Grab a stool, a plate of the freshest food in the city, an Estrella Damm beer and people watch. No matter where you come from Bar Pinotxo will make you feel as if you belong. Bar Pinotxo serves fabulous lunch fare. Say hi to Tony and catch a glimpse of his effervescent smile.

Bar Central - Located in the same market, Marcat, Bar Central is where to head for lunch and jostle with the locals for a stool. With the the same atmosphere as Bar Pinotxo, Bar Central makes for a great alternative if the wait is long at Tony's bar. My tapas pick: grilled "fresh catch of the day".

Granja Viader - While this is a cafe and not a tapas bar, I would be remiss not to mention it. For more than a century people have flocked down this alley to get Grandja Viader's cups of thick hot chocolate and whipped cream. The Viader clan in vented Cacaolat (the forerunner to Nestle's Quik). This nook is an ideal breakfast locale for the sweet tooth with it's suis and pastries on display. Granja Viader closes at 8:45pm (18:45). Don't miss out!!! My pick: suis, of course.

La Vinacoteca Torres - La Vinacoteca Torres clearly understands that tapas and wine are simply unbeatable as a double act on the palate. This wonderful establishments near the Passeig de Gracia metro station offers not just excellent and varied tapas, but also a wine list to remember. It’s not the cheapest of places, but then you forget after you’re 4th glass of red anyway. My pick: any Catalan red wine with Toro in the name

Ciudad Condal - It may not be the most traditional of joints, but Ciudad Condal is a sure-fire bet for a fun and cheap evening spent eating and drinking with the locals. The tapas selection here is impressive, and many of the tapas available are on display to help you when it comes to deciding where to start. My pick: the most expensive (read: aged) Spanish jamon and a San Miguel beer.

El Xampanyet - Nothing has changed for decades in this, one of the city's best-known cava bars. This place reeks bohemian atmosphere. I love it. Grab a plate of any regional tapas and a few glasses of cave and find a table against the tiled walls and absorb it all.

Though the tapas crawl may be more traditional in Madrid or Andalusia, the Catalans have integrated their distinct culture in to an amazing experience. Much like a pub crawl in London, quite simply there are few traveling experiences more enjoyable than a tapas crawl in Spain.

Hambre? Come mucho!

Al, the Travel Valet

Gunshot Through My Soul

A very good friend and constant companion passed away in her doggie bed two nights ago. She was about 13 years old. I miss her already.

Twice in two days, I have absentmindedly called out to her to go out back with me to check on the pool. Both times her name rang through the big empty house; both times, only tears answered. Devastated, I stumbled aimlessly into my backyard with a fresh gunshot wound through my soul forgetting why I was even outside in the first place. Mind you, I consider myself a hardened, thick skinned Texan that can take whatever life deals, chew it up and spit it back out. I'm not really that guy. Her death has taught me that.

When we first met she was terrified of me. Maybe it was my brash, alpha-male personality or maybe it was just that my voice was louder than everything she knew. Either way, early on, I terrified her. As the years passed, she became my friend. (I'm the first to admit, that's no easy task); but she found a way into my heart. I had a ton of nick names for her, opting for them over her given name all the time. She invariably ignored me. I'm sure she was thinking, "He's not so tough. And I'm not answering to Rusty, that's not my name."

And of course, I have stories....She hated loud sounds. When we lived in Florida, the daily summer showers brought numerous lightning storms. The thunderous bolts always sent her scrambling for cover. I can't begin to tell you how many times I fell to the floor laughing at her expense. Damn, I miss her already. Years ago, we had this giant television that must have weighed three hundred pounds with the world's largest picture tube. After many years, the picture tube began to hum. It was terribly annoying. The only way to get the television to stop humming was to bang the console with my fist one time, real hard. It made a terrible racket, like an explosion. Anyway, we kept this television longer than we should have for two reasons; one was it was too damn heavy to get to the curb and second, plasma and LCD televisions were just coming out and I wanted one. So, we waited. The poor damn dog was so terrified by my angry outbursts on the tv console that she became programmed for flight everytime I raised my hand over my head. It may not sound funny, but it was. I pulled that stunt on her last week, maybe six years after we got rid of that television. I raised my hand, she turned away and winced. She was too old to run. I laughed. I miss her already. She may have passed away, but she will live inside of me forever. There she won't have to hear any scary sounds and that brazen Texan that liked to bang on televisions will protect her.

Did I tell you she had the most amazing eyes? I miss her already.

Please visit the Animal Rescue Site and click to give.
http://www.theanimalrescuesite.com/



Until the tears dry,
Al, the Travel Valet

Lonely Planet Offers Free iPhone Apps

The fine folks at Lonely Planet are offering free iPhone City Guide Apps, at least through tomorrow. Lonely Planet is making the free offer in response to the Icelandic volcano eruptions causing worldwide travel interruptions. For once, I'm glad I'm home.

Each city guide is typically $4.99. I downloaded 8 different city guide apps por nada and saved $40. Please take advantage of this offer while it lasts.

Thanks Lonely Planet.

P.S. Every freakin' time a volcano eruption makes headlines, that Jimmy Buffett song bombards my mind. It's not good. How would you like Jimmy Buffett haunting your thoughts all the time?

Until the ash clouds clear,
Al, the Travel Valet

Spewing Volcano Closes Airport

A week ago, some travel sites were coercing potential travelers to Iceland to view the active volcano and take advantage of Iceland's faltering economy. Hope no one took the bait. Now, the volcano has decided to play nasty.

London's Heathrow Airport just shut down because of the enormous ash clouds forming over the spewing volcano and riding the Jet Stream to the UK. Be careful!

Easy Does It!

Al, the Travel Valet

Pick of the Day(62-13-1)...Phillies

Five Days in Florida (Day 3)

Day 3 - Get up early, you bum. A few blocks south of the Versace Mansion on Ocean Drive is an awesome place to start your day. If you are a Versace/fashionista fan, then a short pilgrimage to the steps where a deranged Andrew Cunanan murdered Gianni in 1997 would be worth the few extra steps. There is an al fresco coffee shop (I'm sorry I can't remember the name) with an excellent international newsstand that is prime people watching real estate. Get there early, buy a newspaper or magazine, find an excellent bistro table and let the South Beach morning unfold before your eyes. Rarely will one find a more eclectic migration of souls in such a small place. Honestly, one could write a novel just utilizing only the characters passing by on the sidewalk. If coffee didn't make me so jittery, I could do this every day for the rest of my life and still want more. If coffee isn't your "cup of tea", and romantic isolation is, then opt for a great stroll on the beach. It's South Beach, fool. By about 10 am, checkout of your South Beach hotel and aim your convertible south on A1A. We are headed to the Keys. First stop Key Largo, the self-proclaimed and over-exaggerated, "Dive Capital of the World".

I love just about everything the Florida Keys has to offer. Except the traffic on the Overseas Highway. And, I will be the first to admit that their "come as you are" way of life keeps me dreaming of my next visit. I'm asked at least monthly if I could live anyplace in the continental US and money was no object, where would I live. Answer: The Florida Keys would be in the top 2. I don't want to have to pick between Key West and Austin; my hometown might lose.

John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park located at MM 102.6 is fun for all ages and skill levels. Even if you don't want to get wet, the park offers glass bottom tours that allows one to experience everything a snorkeler sees in the dry confines of a boat. This is an American diver/snorkeler "must do" experience in Florida. You don't go to the Cayman Islands and not visit Sting Ray City nor do you go to Rome and ignore the Colosseum. You don't tour the Keys without John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park. Canoeing through the mangroves is a highlight for me.

At MM 82 is Cheeca Lodge Resort and Spa in Islamorada, this is the luxury resort in the area and sometimes even worth it. They charge an automatic $39 resort fee; I hate these add-ons. The service is flat and some of the bungalows are unacceptable and need attention. (I still think they owe me a $169 credit to my credit card from Sept. 2001) But the location and views are unbeatable. Cheeca Lodge offers all kinds of cutesy packages that induces one to stay on property. Don't fall for it. Just get a nice bed with an ocean view. That's all you need. Take a walk out on the pier; early in the morning nurse sharks scour the sand at the end of the pier for any opportunity. In the evening, right after dusk, the giant tarpon show looking for a hand out, literally. Watch your hands. If your want to utilize the extensive amenities that Cheeca Lodge offers then check at the concierge desk before check-in. You can also do this online at http://www.cheeca.com/. Islamorada is truly the Sportfishing Capital of the World and a vacation in itself. Don't financially commit to any charter before you see what the nearby competition has to offer. You will be pleasantly surprised how affordable world class sport fishing can be if you are not afraid to barter.

Day 3 is much slower than Days 1 and 2. The tranquil magnificence of the Florida Keys will do this to you. Slow down and savor it.

Come as you are,

Al, the Travel Valet

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Five Days in Florida

A couple of friends recently visited my old stomping grounds, Florida. Before they left, we spoke of the things I would return to do if I only had five days slotted for such a great state and a friend visiting for the first time. To be honest, seeing everything Florida has to offer in a year is difficult. It got me to thinkin......

Five Days of Florida (We will tour the 1st 2 days, now)

• Day One - Fly into Tampa, rent a convertible and head for the Clearwater Beach Pier. The pier isn't its big attraction, it's the sand. Clearwater Beach has some of the grandest sand in the land. Other than a small section of beach in the Caymans, I consider this sand the best anywhere. Take just enough time to grab a black grouper sandwich from Frenchy's, a cold Kalik and a 45 minute walk on a truly amazing beach. Now, you know your in Florida and can understand why so many retire to this incredibly hurricane-infested state. Wow!! Next, head north on US 19 to Tarpon Springs. The sponge docks and bayou make for a very fun and educational experience. Greeks are everywhere. The Greeks came for the wildly lucrative sponge trade that made Tarpon Springs the world leader in the natural sponge market. As a matter of fact, for more than forty years, the Tarpon Springs sponge trade was the #1 industry in Florida over tourism and citrus. Look around you, if it weren't for the humidity, you would swear you left touristy Florida behind. Next, continue north on US 19 to Crystal River. We are gonna snorkel with the sea cow, no not Aunt Elsie, the manatee. This bests the dolphin Discovery Cove in Orlando by a mile. These gentle giants float, swim and eat in their natural environment, the clear waters of the Crystal River. This can be a life altering experience. Don't sell it short just because the area is not designed as a tourist destination. The water can be cold, but it's worth it. Find your way back to Tampa and a comfortable hotel in the Channelside area. If you are not too bushed, there's Ybor City. The Columbia Restaurant with its 1905 Salad, sangria wine, mojitos and local Cuban neighborhood nightlife. My vote would be this, but Channelside has many of the top local restaurants and bars.
  
  
• Day Two - Find your way to the intersection of US 41 and State Road 60. This the beginning 275 mile Tamiami Trail which spans from Tampa, south to Naples and east (Alligator Alley) right through the heart of the Everglades and onto Calle Ocho in old Miami. We have to do this weekend worth of entertainment in one day. So, hang on. Many parts of this journey will be littered with abject, heartbreaking poverty. In places, the poverty becomes the scenery, but isn't that part in parcel with cultural travel? First stop, Gibsonton. Strange starts here. Originally, this was the winter home to carnival workers and their beasts. Now, it's mostly an otherworld retirement commune of oddities. I'm being nice here. Some of this shit is downright creepy, even nightmare...ish. Visit Giant's Camp restaurant for some homemade biscuits and a gander. Place opened some three decades earlier by the Barnum & Bailey's Circus Giant and his wife, The Half-Girl. Get your biscuits and get out alive. We are going to a Ruskin vegetable stand for a tomato. What you say? Well, Ruskin is to tomatoes as Indian River is to Florida Oranges. Have a browse, eat a tomato and leave. Sarasota is next stop. This is a very beautiful city and enough refinement for that Grey Poupon guy. The rich carny lived here, John Ringling. Ringling's first job was as a circus clown and with the help of his brothers started the famous circus that still bears his name. His wife, Mable filled her mansion with world class, I mean "world class" which eventually became a museum. I personally favor the mansion and the harbor views over the art. But who am I to say, I prefer Gulden's over Grey Poupon any day. An hour south is Fort Myers and the Shell Factory. I don't really understand the invisible force that draws me to water nor can I comprehend my instinctive desire for shells, but at the Shell Factory one can quench these needs in the gaudiest way imaginable. This is old-fashioned Florida, pre-Disney. Pretty hilarious stuff. We pass through Naples without stopping. Plenty to do, but not enough time to enjoy it. You will pass North America's smallest post office in Ochopee; it's 7'3" wide and 8'4" deep, if you really needed to know. Next stop, Big Cypress National Preserve and the Miccosukee Indian Reservation, here you can take an airboat ride through the river of grass or watch some crazy Indian stick his face in alligator's mouth. There is also a visitor's center near Monroe Station. Last time I went by, eight or nine 12 foot alligators were waiting for some tourist to really screw up. Makes the hairs on your neck prickle. After you have had your fill of the swamp we move into old Miami with a hunger for platanos and a cigar. Yes, the Tamiami Trail ends on Calle Ocho where a good game of dominoes is more important than the Miami Dolphins entire football season. After a cuban coffee and bakery delight, it's time to hit South Beach baby. Pick one of many Art Deco masterpieces on Ocean Drive or Collins Ave for your one night stay. I've stayed in a few. To keep things eclectic, why not The Colony Hotel on Ocean. It's kinda run down, but this is the hotel in Scarface where the drug deal went bad and Tony Montana almost had a terrible chainsaw accident. The hotel has one of those old timey elevators with the cage door that is so slow you are not sure it's moving and sometimes stops between floors; something about that is fun to me. There are several places to dine al fresco on Ocean Drive and people watch. Pick one and enjoy the parade.

Hasta Manana!

Al, the Travel Valet

Spirit Air? Skip 'em!

Officially, there are now 2 airlines I refuse to fly. Everybody knows of my distaste of US Airways. Now, there's Spirit Air, too.

Based out of Fort Lauderdale and with a small hub in Detroit, Spirit Air has been attempting to establish itself as a limited flight discount carrier, much like Jet Blue ten years ago. And for a while, I rooted for them. The niche they filled was there, especially with the growing cruise trade of the giant passenger ships from the nearby port.

I guess I'm still rooting, but now it's against them.

Spirit Air, as of April 6th, 2010, is charging $45 at the gate for your carry-on, your 1st carry-on! This is the same price they charge for each checked bag on all domestic flights. Outrageous!!! There are a few exceptions. We are allowed to bring on a book or an umbrella or a hat or a diaper bag or a Subway sandwich. So, I'm still allowed to read without paying $45; feed a baby or eat a hoagie without the $45 add-on; or even protect myself from the daily Florida rain without a $45 penalty. But Heaven forbid, I'm hungry and it's raining. That will cost me an additional $45. What if I'm hungry, it's raining, I'm bald and just gave birth? Technically, I'm out $135. I guess Rich Dad, Poor Dad will have to stay at home.

I can't speak for anyone. But I will never pay for this! Ever. I would much rather pay the IRS. I can at least pretend the money will go to something worthwhile. I really hate this crap.

Boycott Spirit Air,
Al, the Travel Valet

BTW, check out http://www.scottevest.com/, there's always a way.
Pick of the Day(61-13-1)...San Francisco

Magic Mountain and Parental Observations

Took the teenage daughter and her cousin to Six Flags Magic Mountain in Valencia, California as a reward for Honor Roll grades over her Spring Break last week. The trip was uneventful. I guess that is a good thing. We stayed at the Embassy Suites across I-5 from Six Flags. The hotel was everything we could have imagined and more. I don't have a huge history with Embassy Suites per se, but this was definitely the most well equipped Hotel for its location that I can recall. Children ran a muck, but what do you expect on the first day of Spring Break across the street from the best collection of roller coasters in North America. We stayed in a well priced suite over looking the hotel's outdoor heated pool with indoor/outdoor fireplace that the staff lit every evening. Free full hot breakfasts and complimentary Happy Hour from 3pm-6pm that included a nacho bar and snack bar for the kids. A free 24 hr soda fountain was well-stocked the entire stay. I highly recommend Embassy Suites Valencia to any family visiting the area. It was more than worth the few extra bucks. The kids loved it. Now, on to the amusement park.

The weather could have been more cooperative. Very breezy, windy, weather pushed multiple ominous storm clouds by overhead causing the park to shutdown a ride temporarily only to reset its systems and reopen the same ride 45 minutes later. It was quite irritating. Mother nature was at fault and I didn't blame the park's engineers for the precaution. The kids did, of course.

The things that bothered me were much different.

• Almost every building had paint peeling and in dire need of cosmetic attention. Makes you wonder how much attention the coasters need. Kinda spooky. I thought about it all day.


• Several of the restrooms stunk to high hell. One, just inside the main gate near the flags fountain was down right nasty, reminiscent of a roadside rest area toilet that only sees janitorial service once a week. I wouldn't even let my nephew use it. Six Flags is a place where parents pay premium admission fees so children can enjoy safe, clean fun, not squalor in a breeding ground for Hepatitis A, B, and C.


• The food choices were abhorrent. The line were ridiculously long and only half the food venues were open. On Spring Break???? I understand Six Flags is not responsible my child's fitness and health. But shouldn't there be at least a little in the way of alternatives. How about frozen yogurt? Or smoothies? I did see one apple and banana stand near the sushi and french fry stands, but only one. Speaking of sushi...what is that about? What child chooses sushi as a first choice? Especially at an amusement park.


• The costumes of the super heroes are better on Hollywood Boulevard, seriously. Some were not even believable to a 5 year old. I don't understand why Six Flags has to skimp on costumes. It's not like they go bad or rot. You can use them year after year. The actors just stand there for heaven's sake. Get decent costumes!!!! Batman should look like Batman, not a drunk bingeing on Halloween.


• There was no water in the areas that were designed for water (the man-made ponds) and standing water in places where water obviously was hazardous. Now I realize this is a mostly cosmetic and decorative complaint/observation, but again, if the easy, simple, inexpensive stuff isn't being maintained then what about the high thrill rides? You know, the ones that rocket your child through the air at speeds over 60 mph. Parents need reassurances, too.
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  The last thing I want to mention is probably what disturbed be the most. It's our youth. What in the Hell is going on? There were more 15 year old thugs, pimps and sluts wandering about than I could ever experience in the seediest alleys of Las Vegas. Are there any parents out there?? I don't want to do this alone. But I will if I have to....

Until next time,

Al, the Travel Valet

Maui, it ain't Fiji

I was talking with a friend the other day. He shared his plans of a possible future vacation with me. Come to find out, one of his good buddies, Devin, lives on a 50 ft Beneteau that he purchased with the sale of his .com stock before that bubble burst; a very fortuitous event for Devin. He found his dream. Anyway, Devin recently passed through the Panama Canal on his way to the Galapagos then to Hawai'i and finally on to Fiji. Well, my buddy has been timing his vacations over the last few years to catch up with Devin by flying to whichever port the 50ft Beneteau is docked. My buddy gets to live on board for a week of phenomenal sailing in life altering destinations basically for the cost of plane fare. A real good deal if you ask me. This year he was trying to plan his vacation around the time Devin would be in Fiji. Good plans, right? Well, they fell through and Devin is only going to be as far as Maui when my buddy must take his vacation. I was still enthusiastic about his vacation to Maui for the price of airfare when he said, "Maui...it ain't Fiji!"

This may be true, but Maui, jeez, ain't Terre Haute, Indiana, either.

Though Maui is visited by more than 2 million visitors a year, it is still only about 25% developed. There are so many marvelous things to do and experience that I would sound like an infomercial for the Hawai'i visitor's bureau if I rambled as long as I wanted.

The 57 mile drive down the "Road to Hana" sticks with me some thirty years after I sat in the back of an open-top jeep. Hanging on to roll bar and laughing until hit hurt as my father white knuckled the 600+ curves of breathtaking beauty, is my favorite memory. The road was not near as death defying as he made it out to be, but he did almost roll us a few times while he was caught gazing awestruck at the island's saintly beauty.

I remember stopping on the side of the road for ice cream and they only had one flavor, a flavor I had never heard of, macadamia. I was distraught. What happened to chocolate or vanilla? I was familiar with the nut, but the ice cream. Even thirty years later, I can taste it. I'm in my mid forties now and this is still some of the best ice cream I have ever enjoyed. Not everything tastes good. On this same trip, I had a run in with poi. This strange milky substance is made from taro root and has become quite popular over the years with health addicts. Well, my experience with poi came at a touristy luau in Lahaina. I was having a grand time with my brothers when I was challenged by a very pretty Hawaiian lady to try it. My machismo was shot down as this...gruel came out of my nose as I began to choke. Regardless of what any Kashi commercial might say, Poi sucks.

The Haleakala Volcano is no longer as famous as Mauna Loa or Kilauea, which has been erupting continuously since 1982, the Haleakala crater makes for mind blowing hiking and mountain biking. You can even book a ticket for the very popular volcano to ocean bike ride. It's more of a coast than anything, but tons of fun. Trying to take a picture is virtually impossible so leave your camera in your backpack and record this experience to memory. My personal memory is from 1995. Fifteen years is too long. I must go back soon.

While Maui is most assuredly not Fiji, Fiji is definitely no Maui!

Happy Travels,
Al, the Travel Valet

Paradise Lost or Misplaced?

A great friend once told me, "Each of us define our own Paradise; what it looks like, feels like and even smells like." When I initially heard her say it, I appreciated the thoughtfulness in her words. But I didn't take the time to absorb what she was saying. She went on to ask, "Are you living each day in Paradise or are you on a never-ending voyage to reach what you 'think' is Paradise?"

Today, I stopped to reread her words, 11 months later. Profound words? Indeed. As the years pass and my body ages, I have learned life is mostly about...timing. Maybe I wasn't ready to understand or maybe I wasn't in the mood to listen. Who knows? Timing, timing, timing.

Anyway, the point of this post is the brilliance in her words. Most of us plod through life searching for or climbing some imaginary ladder to reach their own Paradise. Trouble is we waste most of our natural life trying to accomplish this when we can have it right now. I'm not talking about the 50 ft. yacht moored in the British Virgin Islands (that's mine). I'm referring to the obstacles we create and poor decisions we make during the course of our maturation into adulthood. My grandmother once said, "If you lean your ladder against an oak, you may get high up, but don't expect to be picking any apples."

If you dream to wile away your life in a hammock under a palm overlooking the ocean, then why are you in the big city working in an office building fighting for a promotion that you probably don't even want? If your dream to be the mother of three living in a wholesome small town with an adorable house with a white picket fence and tree swing, then why are you working two cocktail jobs in Las Vegas trying to make ends meet? Guess what? You will not ever find your Paradise. You are looking in the wrong damn place! And what really sucks, you already know this to be true. You are just too afraid to make the changes in your life necessary to find and live your Paradise. We all make mistakes and poor decisions, some are seriously life altering wowzers. But other than say, capital murder, these poor decisions can be overcome.

I believe in a degree of free will, the choosing is the constant. These choices accrue throughout life to a determining effect that ultimately limits options. Thus, seemingly innocent decisions have catastrophic consequences in dire situations.

My Conclusion - The initial innocuous decision in the chain seems to be tantamount and keeping "options open" is the key to achieving you own Paradise.

BTW, my grandmother and this great friend are two of the smartest people I have ever known. I love them dearly. This is good advice.

Happy Easter!

Al, the Travel Valet

Pick of the Day(60-13-1)...Butler +7 on Monday