I've always claimed that it's not just the foreign lands but the travel writers that make my job interesting. (Even now, when my contacts with both have been reduced.)

Working on a column about street food, I e-mailed Alan Behr - my trusty German hand - about currywurst and its relationship to Berlin. This is what I got back:

Currywust: quite a Berlin thing, in the main. You get it everywhere else, but it's the signature sausage of Berlin. The best stand for it about which I'm aware--and darn, I didn't check it out this time--is one painted in the international gay colors, on the Wittenberglatz, in Berlin. (Assuming it's still there.)

I couldn't see Annette this time because, 2 days before our scheduled dinner, her father suddenly returned to Berlin, after 4 yrs in Sri Lanka as a Buddhist monk.

While I was in Berlin, the Philharmonic burned 4 days after I saw a concert there, and the Dalai Lama and I were so close to each other at the Adlon Hotel, I think at one point we shared a bath.

Berlin's eastern part has now absolutely exceeded the old West Berlin as the place to visit. In fact, in over a week, I only spent a brief bit of time in the former West Berlin.

In the old days, I'd send an article to you about it. I feel like I'm that East German writer in The Lives of Others, silenced by the state police.

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If I were in Vermont next week I'd definitely head to Brattleboro for the annual Strolling of the Heifers. So much more civilized than the Running of the Bulls. The parade takes place June 7, and is followed by a Dairy Fest and Market Place and - new this year - the Miss VerMOOOOnt Beauty Pageant.

Clearly, Vermont is a state interested in the graceful, because up in Killington Ballroom Vermont is hosting a 5 and a half day Dance Camp for Grownups. Sessions are July 20-25 and July 27-Aug. 1.

Across the country, Cannery Row in Monterey, California, is celebrating its 50th birthday. Actually, it's been around longer but, in honor of John Steinbeck, the town christened the stretch of old canneries with the name of his novel in January of 1958. It offers a new IMAX 3D Theater and InterContinental hotel. And the Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary is still one of the world's great marine ecosystems and popular with both kayakers and sea otters.

Speaking of the sea, The Great Canadian Travel Company (something about that name, boastful as it is, that I like) is conducting a one-week tour to Baffin Island called "Igloolik Whales and Wildlife" (another catchy name). Base camp at Igloolik Point, with guided book expeditions daily. The place apparently is ripe with mammals - walruses and seals in addition to whales - and birds: loons, snowy owls, plovers, etc. Price per person (double occupancy) is $4,999 and includes airfare between Ottawa and Igloolik.

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Every morning now I wake up to Paris.

Or at least a small part of it: Roland Garros, where the French Open is taking place. Thanks to the Tennis Channel I can choose which of five courts I want to watch. Or if I prefer I can watch all of them, in reduced size, at the same time. With a pain au chocolat from Croissan'time, this is as good as it gets without actually being there.

Yesterday morning I was watching Maria Sharapova and realized that she looks a bit like Samantha Jones. I got to wondering if I could make a reasonably close match of a foursome, and sure enough: Ana Ivanovich is a pretty good Charlotte York, Elena Dementieva a somewhat softer Carrie Bradshaw, and Svetlana Kuznetsova a decent Miranda Hobbes. And then it occurred to me: You could get them to travel to world capitals playing doubles matches and bill them "Sets in the City."

I should be in marketing.

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The other night over dinner some 50-somethings were telling some 20-somethings what it was like to stand by the side of the road and stick out your thumb.

I had started the discussion by saying (even though I knew it was impossible), "Wouldn't it be nice if the high gas prices brought back hitchhiking?"

And then those of us who once traveled through the kindness of strangers told the others, who couldn't imagine such a thing, what it was like. Waiting and wondering when the next ride would come. How far it would take you. Whom you would meet.

We talked about the interesting encounters, the fascinating conversations, the way that hitchhiking connected people in a way that doesn't always happen today. Because it often involved people of different generations (usually the young and the not so) and economic backgrounds (those with wheels and those without).

It all sounded incredible to the 20-somethings, and even a little, now, to us. And then I realized the greatest thing that had been lost, greater than the sense of adventure and the feeling of connection: trust.

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The latest dispatch from David:

Tomorrow we will have been walking for fourteen days, covering over three hundred kilometers. I´ve only had time to think about the present moment. I presume that in the middle ages the very real presence of death on the Camino from disease, natural calamities and brigands lifted one´s mind now and then from blisters, heat, cold, and mud.

The best, the very best day on the trip so far happened a few days ago. We left Belorado at eight and began climbing a muddy trail under a low, grey, rain-heavy sky. At Villa Franca Montes de Oca we stopped for ham sandwiches and coffee at a little bar - a giant white dog playing with its puppy outside - and then started to climb a road that was in turns muddy and sandy, but always quite steep. It began to rain, a hard, cold rain with plenty of wind behind it. I was soon drenched from my boots to my shorts -the rest was adequately protected, for a while at least, and then the rain began to seep in everywhere. The world became very small, very wet. At a lull in the rain I stepped over to the side of the road and prepared to urinate, at which point three all-terrain vehicles with mud-spattered men driving and mud-spattered women on the back roared out of the storm and passed in review as I stood there with my mouth open and my hands fumbling with my rain gear.

I didn´t realize that the rain had stopped until I heard a cuckoo. The sky lightened, the air grew warmer, and we began our descent. We saw red-tiled roofs and a church tower. The sun came out, and below us lay a landscape whose colors had been washed clean by the storm. Every color seemed unbelievably fresh--the green of the fields, the blue of the sky, even the mud of the road. I felt like I was being given a reward for having endured such a storm.

And so we came to the tiny hamlet of San Juan De Ortega (pop. 22), named after the 12th century saint who´s buried in the church, which he founded. He was made a saint for his work on behalf of pilgrims going to Santiago. He founded hospices and hospitals for them along the Camino, and built bridges and roads.

We ate supper in a small restaurant, delicious morcilla de Burgos (blood sausage) and salad and asparagus, and drank a bottle of the local red. After that, at eight o´clock, we decided to attend a mass for the former priest of the church, who died last year, and was famous for his help for pilgrims on the Camino, and for the free garlic soup which he offered to all pilgrims who came to the church.

The church is one of the most beautiful examples of twelfth-century architecture that I´ve seen, open, full of light, yet powerful in its allusions to the military architecture of its day. I´m not Catholic, but I was glad to be at that mass in that church, cold as it was inside, commemorating such a man, and at one point, as I stood watching the service unfold, a thought drifted through my mind, curiously light, not startling or life-changing, but a certainty: I´ve been here before.

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People in Broward who never go to Miami miss out on one of South Florida's great experiences - sitting in the courtyard of Books & Books on a balmy evening.

My wife and I did this Friday, at the Coral Gables store, with the poet Michael Hettich and his wife Colleen, the owner Mitchell Kaplan and the travel writer Tony Horwitz, who had just spoken inside about his most recent book, A Voyage Long and Strange, about the early explorers to this continent.

During his talk, Horwitz expressed puzzlement, mixed with dismay, that American history as it is taught in schools tends to begin in 1620 with the pilgrims at Plymouth Colony, when there were numerous explorers and settlements before them. He suggested that if these other stories - involving the French, the Spanish, the Portuguese, etc. - were better known, we would have an easier time today dealing with multiculturalism. Because we would see that it is nothing new; it's been our condition from the start.

He also mentioned how often the various groups reverted to national stereotypes. While the English were starving in Jamestown, he said, the French were finding berries and other wonderful things to eat in cold Canada. They started a gastronomic society. They remarked in their journals on the attractiveness of the local women.

In the courtyard, the conversation flowed from travel to children to politics to journalism. A former foreign correspondent, Horwitz talked about arriving in a foreign country with very little knowledge of the place and having to find his way. He contrasted this with British correspondents, who tend to be old hands, fluent in the language, versed in the culture, seeped in the history. And then, after American correspondents spend a few years in a country, and begin to understand it, they are moved to another, where they have to start from scratch. A practice, when you think about it, strange and counterproductive.

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If you read a lot of press releases, you know all about "staycations" and "mancations" (oh, where is the Man Show when we need it?).

The problem with these neologisms ("Ooh," as one of my college professors used to say, "that was a big word.") is that they're ugly. They don't fit smoothly; it's like hitching a wagon to a hippo.

There are a lot of good words already in existence that we could just change the meaning of to suit our holiday purposes:

unification - family reunion cruise
beautification - travels with a super model
altarcation - trip to Vegas to get married (Yea, I know, I changed a letter. And I'm going to do it again.)
bocation - taking time off for botox treatments
ramification - spending quality time with male sheep
intoxication - going to an inexpensive, usually Eastern European city and getting drunk (chiefly British)
desiccation - time spent in rehab
indication - traveling to hear indie bands
mastication - gourmet tour
lubrication - wine tour
verification - the age-old search for truth

Additions?

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Happy World Turtle Day. Here are some (unrelated) tips:

Traveling, you want to be on top of things. So why not take a professor along? History professor Bob Feldman is leading a tour titled "The Changing Face of Russia" Sept. 11-22. Four days in Moscow, six in St. Petersburg. Price is $5,990 from New York. www.eastwest-tours.com.

Taking a professor's guidebook along with you would be the next best thing. Stephen Solosky teaches in the Department of Mathematics and Computer Processing at Nassau Community College in Garden City, NY, but for years his other passion has been Paris. So much so that he has written a concise (29-page) guide to the city that is available in a digital format - for free. Write to solosks@yahoo.com

Not a professor - but a former Sun-Sentinel business writer - Alan Snel is leading a one-day, 170-mile, coast-to-coast bike ride (from the ocean in Vero Beach to the Gulf in Clearwater Beach) on June 1. The ride is being held to memorialize the life of Bill Fox of Middletown, NY, who died in a bicycle accident in the Hudson Valley on June 1, 2002.
alansnel@yahoo.com

It always seemed to me that if you can't make it to faraway places, the Smithsonian Folklife Festival would be the next best thing. The festival is held every summer on the National Mall and showcases a number of different cultures. This year: Bhutan, NASA and Texas. Dates are June 25-29 and July 2-6.

Back in Florida, The Inn on Fifth in downtown Naples is offering special summer rates for Florida residents: $119 a night Sunday-Thursday; $129 Friday and Saturday. Good through Oct. 31.

Up in St. Petersburg Beach, the TradeWinds Island Resort is offering rates of $169 a night for Florida residents (good through Sept. 30).

The nearby Don CeSar (aka The Pink Palace) has rates of $189 a night from June 1-Sept. 30 and you don't even have to live in Florida to get them. You can live ANYWHERE!

And next Friday, May 30 Slow Food Miami is presenting a screening of King Corn: You Are What You Eat at the Wolfsonian in South Beach. The film, at 7 pm, is free; dinner afterwards in the museum's Dynamo Cafe is $100 (plus film and champagne reception at 6:30).

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So I guess you've all heard about American Airlines charging $15 for the first checked bag on domestic flights (beginning with tickets purchased on or after June 15).

While bringing in more money to the airline, this fee will create even more of a mess at airports, as people seach for bills - or worse, credit cards - to give to whom? The skycaps? The automated check-in systems? And wait and see how many frugal flyers try to squeeze oversized bags into the overhead compartments, holding up boarding even longer. Is this what American wants?

But I don't want to pick on them. There are still a lot of things they can charge us for. Magazines, paperbacks, headphones, sandwiches we now have to lug on because we know we won't get fed, jackets, belts, shoes, socks, hearing aids, dental fillings. Don't put it past them. Clearly, to them we're all just extra baggage.

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I went down Tuesday night to hear my friends Leonard Nash and Lynne Barrett read at a furniture store called Open Doors. Banners proclaiming MiMo Historic District hung from lamposts on Biscayne Boulevard.

Inside the store a couple dozen people chatted, armed with toothpicks. Lynne was up first, and said that she always looks at chairs from the perspective of how comfortable they would be to read in, so for her, literature and furniture have always been linked. "And," she added, "they both end in "ture."

I returned last night for a Wolf Pack tour sponsored by the Wolfsonian. The museum always sends me interesting press releases of its activities, and I decided finally to check one out.

The pack gathered at a place called Upper East Side Garden, about three doors down from Open Doors. It was a tranquil space shaded by two towering oak trees.

Peter gave me a tour of the mini-golf course in the back. Each hole, he explained, was designed by a different artist. They incorporated elements both bizarre and mundanely bizarre, like the sign that read "Keep Off the Grass." One was a black-light hole designed, Peter said, by the TM sisters.

Back in the main garden, the 1947 noir film The Lady from Shanghai played on a screen against the south wall. Circular black-and-white cushions dotted the ground. So complementing the mini-golf was a sort of mini drive-in.

The film was eventually replaced by architectural slides, accompanied by a talk by local architect Dean Lewis. After which we walked down to 69th Street for dinner at Uva 69, which describes itself as "part Barcelona bistro, part urban wine bar."

As a group, we too were not so easy to define. Mostly Miamians, but a couple Browardians. There was a woman from the Wolfsonian, as well as a planner, a social worker, a retired physician, a magazine editor and a money manager. We pushed small tables together to make one grand piece of furniture that soon filled with delicious food and buzzed with spirited conversation.

One more enjoyable night on the Upper East Side.

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The novelist and nature writer turns 81 today. Born in New York City, Matthiessen became one of the founders of The Paris Review. His novels, a number of which, including Killing Mister Watson, are set in the Everglades, often explore the complex relationship between man and nature. His nonfiction book The Snow Leopard is considered one of the great travel books of the 20th century

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A good day for hearing from far-flung friends. David writes from the north of Spain:

I´m in Santo Domingo de la Calzada tonight. It´s a hilltop town in Navarra with a beautiful medieval cathedral. So far we have walked 214 kilometers since we began in France eight days ago. It may not seem like much to you, but I have never walked so far in my life. I´m so under the discipline of this life that it´s hard to think of anything other than what I have to do next to continue.

I love what I´m doing, and love the countryside through which we´re walking, but I have to concentrate hard on the next step, the next kilometer, the next sip of water.

Remember mud? I hadn´t thought about it for years, and now I think about it every day. Mud is a part of my life on the walk to Santiago de Compostela. It´s a part of my clothes. It´s everywhere I go on the steep hilly trails of Navarra. Mud is powerful, too. One slip in the mud and I could twist an ankle.

A German woman has brought her pet ferret on pilgrimage with her. The other day I watched her take it for a walk around the main square of Los Arcos. Her progress around the square was slow; the ferret seemed to creep rather than walk. I couldn´t keep my eyes off it.

Two men on horseback passed us the other day, superb riders sitting high on superb horses, while we toiled in the mud. I saw why a man on horseback has always been such a powerful image, especially to those who have to go on foot.

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Waiting for the start of the French Open, my colleague Charles Bricker writes:

Around 7:30 on Wednesday I flicked on the six-inch TV set bolted to the wall of my otherwise wonderful little hotel room in Tarascon-sur-Ariege and was jolted almost immediately by the sound of the G word on the morning newscast.

Greve.

Which in French means “strike.”

Once again, for I believe the 1,457,677th time, French railway workers were declaring a work stoppage, at midnight that evening. Maybe they’re chronically underpaid. I don’t know. What I do know is that they are the single most significant vacation killers in France.

My plan, after two spectacular days in the Pyrenees, had been to drive the 100 kilometers north to Toulouse, dump the rental car and hop the 1:43 p.m. train to Bordeaux, stay overnight and ride the TGV fast train three hours into Paris to go to work on Thursday.

No problem with getting to Bordeaux. The strike wouldn’t begin until midnight. But I had visions of my Paris train being shut down for the next two days and my editor growling over the delay in getting that Sunday story on Rafael Nadal.

Clearly, I needed a Plan B, and that was to drive to Toulouse and flag a same-day train to Paris before the conductors hit the bricks.

What luck. I never needed to change plans. The TGV service from Bordeaux to Paris was one of the few lines not to be interrupted by the strike and I booked a 7:30 a.m. seat. Greatly relieved, it was much easier now to relive, in my memory and in numerous photos, two and a half days in those spectacular mountains that separate France from Spain.

I got to the Pyrenees on Sunday afternoon and, despite a drizzle, walked for a couple hours in the Parc National des Pyrenees among what must have been hundreds of waterfalls.

I’ve stood by Yosemite Falls and seen Niagara. Nothing can match the speed and power of the melted snow blasting down from the Pyrenees. How do you estimate the speed? Perhaps 70, 80 mph. It was staggering, but there was so much more to come on Monday and Tuesday.

Staying in a B&B just north of the ski village of Cauterets, I backtracked to another two-lane mountain/valley road that ends in the village of Gavarnie.

And where the road ends, the Cirque de Gavarnie hiking trail begins, taking you, in a bit over an hour, up about 3,000 meters to nirvana, a place where you’re surrounded by patches of snow and sensational views of roaring cascades. Cold never felt so good. You stand there doing 360 degrees, looking at some of the greatest natural splendors that have touched your life.

I exited the B&B on Tuesday morning and drove east, through an unending number of villages and past interminable “Centre Ville” signs to Tarascon, alighting, without reservation, at the Hotel de la Poste to take a clean, well-lighted room with shower and free Wifi, overlooking the Ariege River, for 42 Euros (about $65) a night. This is the south of France at the right time – when the weather is good and the prices are not quite in high season.

An hour and a half on Wednesday afternoon was spent on a tour of the Grotte de Nioux, stepping with flashlight in hand through the heavily protected caves that have been a French national treasure since 1906. In the Salon Noir, about 800 meters from the entrance, are the 15,000-year-old drawings of bison and ibex on the cave walls.

This was not merely a trip highlight. It was a lifetime highlight, a plunge back into the Paleolithic era.

It was all too good. It’s also time to go to work. Boss: Nadal is on the way.

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When I tell people what I do for a living, they're almost always envious - and that's without reading the e-mails I get!

This week's have been particularly entertaining, full of non-monumental statistics. "According to the Travel Industry Association, 59% of Americans planning vacations still expect to travel this summer, despite higher gas prices," began one press release. Then it announced the Peekaru, "the first stylish and environmentally responsible fleece vest in the world that zips over a soft baby carrier to keep BOTH parent and child warm ..."

Some releases are more vague, but just as heartening: "According to a recent survey, millions of RV owners will travel over the Memorial Day weekend ... Most RVers are so committed to the RV lifestyle that they're simply adjusting their travel plans ..." Now, in an age of forsaken loyalties, isn't it nice to know that some people remain committed - even if it's just to an RV lifestyle?

Another release arrived, alerting me to the fact that this Friday is World Turtle Day. (I had totally forgotten.) "More than ever," read the second sentence, "people are interested in seeing sea turtles on vacation."

Now here I could have done with a little more research. Exactly what percentage of people are interested in seeing sea turtles on vacation? How have higher gas prices affected the number of people who act on their interest and actually drive to see sea turtles on vacation? And how do we know sea turtles even TAKE vacation?

I do have a wonderful job.

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On Sunday the oh-so-knowing New York Times Style Magazine was devoted to Travel, and one of the articles was about how travelers are no longer satisfied with the sights, they want to meet the people.

There were two aspects of this news that were interesting. One, it was presented as news, as if all of a sudden we have discovered the rewards of human interaction. Hasn't anyone at the magazine read Paul Theroux? Do they think he's been going on and on about the museums all these years?

Two, the people-to-people exchanges the article discussed were arranged by tour companies, as part of their service. They involved guides taking tourists back to meet their families.

In other words, it was a personal touch made possible through a financial transaction. In which case, the actual meeting would inevitably be a little artificial, not to mention awkward, as an entire tour group invades a local's home.

As every backpacker knows, the best encounters happen by chance, and are usually one-on-one affairs, when the only currency is curiosity.

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Sculptor Jim McNalis just sent me the following information for those who would like to help the people of Burma.

In an effort to get much needed aid to the survivors of Cyclone Nargis in Myanmar (Burma) the Dhammaloka Buddhist Society (DBS) of Miramar, Florida, has opened a Burma Cyclone Relief Fund and is now accepting donations. The DBS is a non-profit organization and all donations are tax deductible. Please make checks payable to DBS. Write “Cyclone Nargis” in the memo section of the check. You will receive a receipt for your donation by return mail. Send all donations to:

Dhammaloka Buddhist Society, Inc.
2500 Acapulco Drive
Miramar, FL 33023

Also, Jim noted that a prayer service will be held for the people of Burma on Sunday, June 1, from 5-8 pm at the Torch of Friendship (next to Bayside Marketplace) in downtown Miami.

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No, it's not Friday (unfortunately), but I've got some things that really shouldn't wait.

Tony Horwitz, the travel writer with a thing for history, is going to be reading at Books & Books in Coral Gables Friday evening at 8 pm. Horwitz, author of Confederates in the Attic and Blue Latitudes, has a new book, A Journey Long & Strange, in which he goes in search of this continent's early explorers. Horwitz has been writing a blog of his book tour, so if you show up Friday and fling him a question he's never been asked, who knows, you might end up in it.

"Living Among the Artists Workshops" is a program sponsored by Fort Lauderdale's Legacy Art Studio, and takes place June 18-23 in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Classes are in sculpture and oil painting ($500 for five). Accommodations at The Gallery Inn are $125 a night. 954-527-5606.

The Fort Lauderdale Historical Society is hosting a reception for a new exhibit, Charles Mills: Portraits in Jazz and Life, May 29th from 6:30-9:00 pm at the New River Inn. Vocalist Nicole Yarling will perform. $25 for Historical Society and Jazz Society members; $35 for everyone else.

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Mei from WildChina is now in China, and just sent me this message from one of her guides, Philip He:

Today we went to Dujiangyan, the both sides of the streets are almost all occupied by tents of different shapes and from different material. Most people are still scared to go back to their apartment buildings. There are some better tents with big Chinese character 救灾(Disaster-Relief), mostly they are only used for injured people or people who live in a big apartment building which have collapsed fully in the strong quake.

When we came to the Dujiangyan TCM Hospital (Traditional Chinese Medicine), we were shocked by large group of people standing outside with expecting eyes. Most of them have been waiting there since the happening of Earthquake, which make a big in-patient building collapsed and buried hundreds of people and patients. Soldiers and policemen are standing in lines outside by the side of the waiting people.

Inside the gate, two heavy excavators are working. I was told they have been working here for 4 days without stop. Whenever there is a body found, a certain person will come and tell some features of the newfound body. The relatives who think it might be the person they are waiting for will be allowed to go in to indentify. Then the body will be sent to a place shrouded in yellow plastic cloth.

At the gate, we met two middle aged ladies. They were waiting for their relatives. They were from one family. About 14 of their family members were in that hospital discussing financial help to a poor injured family member from a car accident. Just at that moment, the eathquake happened. The father of the injured man reacted so fast that he got 3 family members escaped from the window bars. Later on, he rescued another two persons from the collapsed buiildings. But no more good lunck fall upon him. No more suvivors of his big family have been found. After 4 days of waiting, only 3 bodies have been found, though he still hope miracle would happen.

While they are waiting, most of people still can't understand why all the buildings around them collapsed and one still stands steady after the strong earthquake and so many aftershocks.

When we left they were still waiting with hope and pain, the pain is not just from the loss of their closest family members, but also from the equally fragile buildings...... They hope one day someone will give them a good answer.....

I hope this answer will not be long.

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Just throwing out a few ideas...

Value World Tours is offering discounts of $500 a person on its 11-night cruise on Ukraine's Dnieper River, starting in Kiev and ending in Odessa. Which means fares now range from $1,199 to $1,698.

The Caribbean island of Dominica is hosting its 15th annual Dive Fest July 11-20.

If you want to travel a little closer to home, Fort Myers has some deals. The Wynstar Inn & Suites is offereing Summer Golf and Summer Spa packages of three-night stays for, respectively, $490.83 and $391.43. And Homewood Suites by Hilton has an Edison & Ford Winter Estates Package for $129 a night plus tax (based on availability).

If you prefer traveling vicariously, the Tower Theater on Calle Ocho in Little Havana is showing classic Italian films in its Cinema Italia program running the third weekends of May and June. Luchino Visconti's Ossessione starts things off this evening. Phone 305-642-1264.

And get ready for the 12th Brazilian Film Festival of Miami, with films screening throughout South Beach May 30-June 7.

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Just got an e-mail from my friend David in Spain:

Soon after my sixtieth birthday, I decided I should go on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. I can´t explain the decision--I´m not a religious person--other than to say I suddenly wanted to give expression to a feeling of gratitude for having been allowed to live for so long, and an inner voice said, "Better do it now."

So it was that on the late afternoon of May 9th, I met my friend Carlos near Gate 45 at JFK airport. We were both dressed in our hiking outfits; I was carrying a black overnight bag, Carlos a small paper bag containing two pieces of cake.

"Today´s my birthday," he said. He held up the paper bag. "My daughter made some cake."

We got coffees at Starbuck´s and sat at a counter. Carlos produced the cake, two paper plates, and two white plastic forks. He explained that today was a propitious day for him to travel. He had just turned 54, and we were leaving from Gate 45. "Four plus five equals nine," he said. "And today´s the 9th of May."

Outside, it was raining. I worried that my knapsack was too heavy. But, surely, I could share in Carlos´s good luck?

Takeoff was delayed. Our plane took its place in a line that inched forward in the rain. Television minitors bolted to the ceiling showed us our situation. We were more than 3,500 miles from our destination. Our altitude was six feet. Our speed was one mile an hour.

Perhaps to cheer us up, the airline showed a clip from the Dave Letterman show. Two college kids came onto the set with an overnight bag not much bigger than the one I was carrying. The kids exchanged humorous banter with Dave. Then, one of the kids, of course the taller one, squeezed himself into the overnight bag. His friend zipped the bag shut, and then, to great applause, lugged the overnight bag off the set. Dave smiled and clapped. He said, "Now they´ll only need one ticket to go on vacation."

I´ve begun the walk. The trek over the Pyrenees from France to Spain and the monastery of Roncevalles was beautiful and very, very difficult for me. It was easier for Carlos, and small groups of middle-aged women kept passing me on the slopes. I paid them no mind. All I was thinking about was the next sip of water and calling a taxi.

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The 2008 Spirit Awards nominees were just announced, by the wonderfully named organization Tales of the Cocktail. And in three categories - Best Classic Cocktail Bar, World's Best Cocktail Bar, and Best New Cocktail Bar - not a single Miami watering hole made the list.

This is a little surprising, considering that Art Deco and cocktails share the same era. I have always loved the little hideaway bar at the Raleigh Hotel, though every time I stop in it's lacking what every good bar needs: people. They're usually out by the pool, under the stars. Which is part of Miami's problem: it's hard to have a great bar in a subtropical climate.

Still, there are a number around the state that I love. The one at the Vinoy Hotel in St. Petersburg (shown here), which sits like a mirage in the middle of the dining room. The dark, Swedish-themed bar at Chalet Suzanne. The cozy, fisherman's bar in the Cabbage Key Inn. The elegant, bunker-like bar at the Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables, which has always struck me as the perfect place to sit out a hurricane.

I'd love to hear of your favorites, wherever they are.

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I just got an e-mail from a woman I met at an educational travel conference in February. Her name is Mei and her organization is WildChina:

It's been such an emotional day here, dealing with the aftermath of the quake in China.

I just want to give you a quick update on WildChina and our clients. Overall, all of our clients, guides and drivers are safe in the area. The most amazing thing was to experience the outpouring of support and concern from our past clients and future clients.

We did not have any clients in the epicenter, fortunately. But we do have a few individual travelers in Xi'an who felt the jolt strongly. Two of our American travelers just checked into the hotel in Xi'an when they felt the strong shake. They were immediately evacuated outside. They stayed in the street for a few hours before the hotel declared it safe to go back in. Some of our other travelers were out touring at the time the quake happened. We are working very closely with these travelers to determine whether to reroute them home earlier than expected. We are also keeping their relatives at home informed of developments.

We have in the pipeline, a group of 30 travelers to Chengdu in the next month. We are rerouting them. Another five departures for small family groups planned to go to Jiuzhaigou National Park, which is to the North of Chengdu in the Tibetan area. We are rerouting them as well.

Our local guides in Chengdu are all fine. One of our guides actually dashed out of safety to accompany a US news organization to the epicenter to cover the story. We have reached all our guides either by phone or by email.

Now, from our clients, our office was flooded with phone-calls and emails of concern and support. Most clients are already in action to bring grassroots relief to the region. One particular client - an educational institution - has been planning a trip to go to Sichuan. They've expressed clear wishes that they want to stay with the course to go there, but to help! All our employees in the office are very touched by this outpouring. It's one of those rare opportunities to know that their mundane activities of ticket and hotel booking are connecting people in different ways and are helping people in need.

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Ever since airlines stopped serving food, airports have done an excellent job providing it themselves. Sunday, changing planes in Charlotte, I had a delicious pulled pork sandwich which came with a vinegary sauce that told me I was in Carolina. (Though I knew it anyway, as I was eating at Carolina Brew Company,)

But the airports seem to have forgotten one meal: breakfast. At least my local airport, Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International</