I didn’t get to check off as many cities on my to-do list this year as I did in 2008, but, considering I now have to actually show up at an office rather than work from truck stops across the nation, I still managed pretty well. (See below.) I also rode in a Zeppelin (and met Buzz Aldrin at the same time), sailed in a glider plane, participated in a Fijian kava ceremony, survived a trip to Martha’s Vineyard as the sole chaperone of four niblings, and somehow inherited a few more nibling-esque family members that have come to visit me.

All in all, a good year. I’m just hoping 2010 is going to be even better.

Warner Springs, CA
Easton, CT
Boulder City, NV/Willow Beach, AZ
Newport, RI

Martha’s Vineyard, MA
Las Vegas, NV
San Geronimo, CA
San Francisco, CA
Suva, Fiji
Paso Robles, CA
San Simeon, CA
Monterey, CA
Albany, NY
San Diego, CA

During my East Coast odyssey of ’08, I spent a few weeks researching America’s castles, many of which are located in the Northeast, particularly Newport, Rhode Island, and New York’s Hudson River Valley and Long Island. The article is finally live on ForbesTraveler.com:
http://www.forbestraveler.com/luxury/americas-castles-story.html?partner=rss

While in Newport to dig a little deeper into the history of Belcourt Castle, I also happened to be on deadline for another assignment. Instead of rushing back to my hotel to use the lobby Wi-Fi, I was fortunate enough to hang out in the castle a little longer, flanked by two suits of armor. It was definitely one or my more unique writing locations.

I’d still love to visit Wing’s Castle and Coral Castle, since they’re both such oddballs, as well as check out OHEKA, which I’m sure has changed greatly since my sister got married there a thousand years ago.

Quentin at Wasaga Beach, Ontario

Two Februarys ago, I picked up on a meme about cities visited in previous year. that I have no qualms about stealing lists from others’ sites. I’m pretty certain I can add far more to this year’s list, on account of my East Coast odyssey.

Here’s a list of the cities I traveled to in 2008 (* indicates non-consecutive visits), in chronological order, to the best of my memory. This list does not include every city I traveled through on my two cross-country drives, just the bigger ones:

Long Beach, CA
San Geronimo, CA
Vieux-Fort, St. Lucia
Asbury Park, NJ
Lavallette, NJ
Lake Arrowhead, CA
Las Vegas, NV
Littlefield, AZ
Cedar City, UT
*Denver, CO
Columbia, MO
St. Louis, MO
Effingham, IL
Indianapolis, IN
Columbus, OH
Wheeling, WV
*Ephrata, PA (Lancaster County)
West Orange, NJ
New York, NY
Easton, CT
Philadelphia, PA
Baldwin, NY
Glen Cove, NY
Fire Island, NY
Brooklyn, NY
Beacon, NY
Arlington, VA
Charlottesville, VA
Barrie, ONT
Toronto, ONT
Montreal, QC
Newport, RI
Vancouver, BC
New Hope, PA
Cleveland, OH
Des Moines, IA
Lincoln, NE

Not too shabby. Let’s just hope I get in some more time on foreign soil this year.

I’ve had an infatuation with Australia since I did a report on the country Down Under in sixth grade. During junior high, I had the Australian flag hanging in my locker and a map of the country on my bedroom wall, which I studied on a regular basis, memorizing the capitals, states and territories as if I would be quizzed.

Somehow, I’ve made it to every other inhabited continent on the planet but not Australia. This is a situation that needs to be rectified ASAP — and this gig would be the perfect way to do it. Who else is better qualified to test dive gear, monitor aquatic life, blog about the reef’s goings-on, and answer questions to incoming tourists?

I’m sending in my application this month. If anyone knows someone on the selection committee that I can bribe, please let me know.

Examiner.com Southern California Travel

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged — on my own website, at least. I’ve been so busy ghostwriting, web consulting, writing Wikipedia entries, and teaching high school (yes, you read that correctly) that I’ve let my poor beloved blog sit idle for far too long.

However, should I once again begin to slack and the urge to read my prose become too strong, feel free to check out my new column on Examiner.com:
Southern California Travel Examiner

I only have a few posts up so far, but now that I’m getting my schedule under control, I’ll be going to bed before 4AM and will have more time (and energy) to write here. I may even get another chapter of my book done before the end of the month. (Stop laughing.)

Pros of Pages:

• More functionality, such as the ever popular “apps,” which aid greatly in viral marketing, including RSS feeds. (Groups do not currently have apps.)
• Metrics tracking (pageviews, etc.).
• Ability to send updates to Fans.
• More than one admin can be assigned to a page; however, there can be only one “official” owner: “Every admin has equal access to and the same abilities as the other admins for a Page, however the original creator of the Page may never be removed by other Page admins.” This rule seems to be the same for Groups as well.
• Users are listed as “Fans” of your Page on their profile. Becoming a Fan is shown in their feed.

Pros of Groups:

• Privacy. Do you want non-members seeing your info?
• More popular and prevalent than pages, because they’ve been around longer, which means people are more likely to happen upon a Group than a Page via search.
• Groups are displayed on a user’s profile, if they choose.

Naked Lady House, Baja, California

I’ve been hearing tidbits from friends about how Rosarito, the beach town 30 minutes south of Tijuana, has been a hot bed of violence over the last few months. I initially chalked up the heightened tales to paranoia and over-caution, but then I began hearing about it more frequently, most recently from this story in the LA Times.

It’s a shame, really. Rosarito was just getting on its feet and making a name for itself, what with the influx of more upscale restaurants and Donald Trump moving into the nabe with his spa tower and high-class cuisine. When I first started visiting Baja just over a decade ago, Rosarito was little more than a street full of rival frat parties, most notably at such mega-bars as Papas & Beer.

Then, just a couple of years back, I began to notice a change, and not just the number of new concrete settlements being hastily constructed along the “Scenic” Route 1. Rosarito now had a jazz bar. And French food. And high-end spas. An Italian restaurant with creative Mexican infusions sported a cavernous underground dining room that hosted murder-mystery dinners. Heck, the area was even beginning to make a name for itself with its wineries, with trendsetters such as San Diego’s legendary Hotel del Coronado importing local vintages for their cutting-edge restaurants.

Yes, the rowdy college crowd persisted in taking its parties to the streets, and friends still returned with tales of corrupt police extracting exorbitant bribes for offenses as minor as jaywalking. But Baja was still a great weekend bargain, especially for stocking up on custom furniture and wrought-iron works.

I was planning to spend another New Year’s in Mexico, but the recent stories have made me rethink those plans, which is a shame. I was looking forward to introducing my friends to such favorite spots as Chipotle (not the chain, a family-owned establishment with delish breakfast dishes), the naked lady house outside Puerto Nuevo (pictured, from two New Years ago), and Fox Studios Baja, a pseudo-theme park that your insurance company would rather you never heard of. But I guess those moments will have to wait. C’mon, drug lords, can’t you take your shenanigans elsewhere? Leave Rosarito to us turistas.

One of the web’s most popular travel sites is giving away $1 million to a charity to be chosen by its users. Vote today! So far, two children’s charities are in the lead. I’m sure those are worthy causes and all that, but I’d love to see The Nature Conservancy win, as I’ve read that its organization gives a very high percentage of its donations to the actual cause, rather than spending it on overhead.

Vote early, vote often

Statue of an unidentified critter in New Hope, PA

I’ve been hearing about the quaint little burg of New Hope for years, but something has always seemed to get in the way of my visiting. Not so this time. With no boss bellowing for me to return to a prison-like cube and five months to spend on the East Coast, I finally got to visit one of the cities that Forbes Traveler recently named one of America’s Prettiest Towns.

With niblings in tow, I packed up Eartha Kitt and set my GPS for New Hope, population 2,252 (per the 2000 census). We planned to spend the day strolling charming boutique-lined streets, taking in the autumn foliage, and then heading to Shady Brook Farms for some pumpkin and apple pickin’.

I’d expected New Hope to be charming, but I didn’t quite anticipate its unique hybrid of historic cuteness and hip anti-conformism. The first indication that we wouldn’t be greeted by minutemen and Betsy Ross wannabes came in the form of a surreal statue, which the niblings and I deemed a cat on acid. It has ears like a cat and a rather cat-like posture, if said cat were having its ass scratched, so high was its overly elongated tail in the air, but there was also something inherently un-catlike about it, something less whimsical Seuss and more opium-smoking Poe. (If anyone has any idea what this animal is actually supposed to be, please tell me. We’re dying to know.) After taking a few pictures with the un-cat and the un-cat’s bunghole, we moved on down the street to the canal museum, unmanned and amusingly tiny. We took a gander at the mule-less canal, now choked with duckweed and cat tails as it undergoes renovation. Quentin, remembering what he’d learned about canals from our Toronto trip, impressed me by pointing out the locks. (I have to remember to show him this site tomorrow.)

The first few shops we encountered were closer to the New Hope of my mind, including a year-round Christmas store and a handmade purse boutique, complete with punny name (The Bag Lady). We perused a bit but soon grew bored with a holiday too far off to provide any instant gratification. As we ambled lazily down the sidewalk, we had a bit of a shock when a woman, her hand covered in her own blood, streaked past us, her eyes glazed with fear. I spun some story to ease the kids’ own fright, then kept walking, only to run into the same woman emerging from a restaurant moments later, her hand still dripping scarlet. This time, I decided to be more of a role model and told her to take a deep breath before asking if she needed me to call 911 and reminding her to apply pressure. But apparently my heroism was a little late, because a moment later the restaurant manager came out with cloths for her to press against her wound.

I hurried the kids along, trying to divert their minds from the pre-Halloween gore by pointing out the lush foliage, distinctive architecture, and the Mansion Inn (after my trip to Newport and, most notably, Belcourt Castle, “mansion” seemed a misnomer for this comparatively teensy dwelling). We finally found a worthy distraction in a medieval-themed store brimming with suits of armor, metal brassieres, and swords taller than my nephew. Although the prices were more than reasonable (a hand-crafted knife for $20!), I decided against buying weapons for children and instead took them to gaze at the horrific display of Chucky-inspired gore in the window of an adults-only store. Much more appropriate.

That’s what shocked me most about New Hope. Although it’s steeped in history and the arts — every other shop at the far end of Main Street was an overpriced gallery — New Hope definitely has a kinky, non-comformist side. Now that I’ve seen it myself, I realize that’s probably what my friends were trying to convey when they gawked about my never having visited, especially since the town seemed “made for me” and “right up my alley.” There were at least three stores that the niblings wouldn’t be able to enter for at least another eight years, and several more that probably should have had similar warnings.

Luckily, their favorite stop turned out to be Farley’s Bookshop, an independent seller with the requisite creaky floors and even a feline mascot but, sadly, no musty old books for me to pine over. After buying reading material for the kids (Fablehaven for Carly, another edition of Captain Underpants for Quentin) and skipping rocks on the banks of the Delaware in the shadow of passing paddleboats, we decided to ditch our historic train ride so we could spend the maximum amount of time on the farm, whose website promised all sorts of autumnal fun.

We should have done the train ride. Shady Brook Farms was, let’s just say, a tad disappointing. If the admission fee had been more than $10, I probably would have asked for–no, demanded–my money back. The haunted house was little more than a gross-out fest, far less frightening than it was nauseating (thanks in part to a toilet full of poo in the blood-splattered bathroom). Only two of the big-kid carts on the SPF 500 Racetrack worked, and with no one to monitor the gaggle of children, I practically had to yank off two cart-bogarting kids so my dear, sweet, patient niblings could have a turn. The corn maze had terribly marked “clues” planted about, and because it too was unmonitored, we could easily still be in there if I hadn’t cheated our way out, since no one saw us enter and the sunlight was rapidly fading. Even the hayride… wasn’t. There wasn’t a straw of hay to be found on the tractor ride to the pumpkin patch. The upside is we did leave with decent pumpkins, and the pig and dachshund races were delightful, if only because Carly got chosen to wave the checkered flag and act like a starting bell at the beginning of each race.

The kicker came when we went to go apple picking, which Quentin had been waiting for all day. It took nearly half an hour to find the unmarked orchards, even though they were only a quarter mile and two turns away. For those looking, it’s a right at the mailboxes (not the stoplight), through the drive between the two white buildings, down the dirt road to the left, and conveniently located next to an apiary. Yes, a whole swarm of beehives. Very convenient for pollinating apples, but not very convenient for picking them. As seemed to be the theme of the day, the orchard too was unmonitored, so we had no one to ask what we could pick or where we would pay. So we simply left, leaving Quentin feeling unfulfilled. Damn you, Shady Brook Farms!

I bet if you ask the kids a year from now what they remember most about the trip, they’ll say the bloody-armed woman, the toilet of horrors, and the pig races. Such is the mind of a child. At least, that’s what stands out to me.

The backend code is a little more SEO-friendly, and I’ve added new site features such as a search box on every page. Overall, I just like the new feel of the site — seems cleaner and more “me.” I’d love your comments on the new design!

www.jennarobbins.com

Blog redesign coming soon….