On the job for Lonely Planet.
From a five-star hotel in Uruguay to the villas (slums) of Buenos Aires? Now that’s my kind of work week.
As New Yorkers left the city in mass exodus, we rolled into Penn Station just in time for the holidays.
After one bicycle ride down Ocean Drive, I was ready to chop off my hair, start smoking cloves, and ditch my Macbook for a vintage typewriter.
‘Remnants of a lost Los Angeles, city of the mind, remembered and yearned for, the neon lights of LA – celestial fires of another sort, green, gold, ruby red, electric blue…
I skipped the museums. But I had breakfast in the subway, pretended to shop for apples and saw lots of beautiful Hungarian women.
Yesterday I floated in the waters of Budapest’s thermal spas. Yes, the system is confusing if you don’t know Hungarian – and yes, the older gentlemen are satisfyingly rotund in their tiny swimsuits.
Much as I adore my friends, I loathe the phrase ‘girls’ getaway.’ I like ‘mini-break,’ as the Brits say – or better yet, the Spanish word ‘escapadita’ (little escape.)
I know it’s a greeting-card holiday. But I decided to plan a mini-vacation for two this Valentine’s Day – in my defense, I had a very good reason.