Dorothy was right, after all. But if you
can't be at home, here are some of your favorite next-best places
to be. Illustrations by Tim Bower.
The air puffer security scanner at Fort Lauderdale
airport. After … having to go through sometimes incredibly
long lines at security, to be pointed to the air puffer machine is
a pleasure. Fifteen seconds of peace and the quick blast of air
that covers you from head to foot just give me a nice little
pick-me-up. - Charles Maurice, Hollywood, Florida
Slovenia. It is a very small country in
Europe that very few people have ever heard of. It is part of the
EU and also a member of NATO. My dad's parents came from there and
met in
America. We took a trip back with my dad and met 19 cousins.
… Half the country is forest. It looks like the
Sound of Music, with the
Alps and beautiful meadows. I
have traveled a lot, and I think
Slovenia is an undiscovered gem. I
am reticent to write about it, because everyone will want to go!
Lake Bled is beautiful, and the customs are rich; the food is a
mixture of Austrian, Hungarian, Italian, and Slovenian. My dad was
a naval officer when I was growing up, and I lived in a lot of
places, so I don't feel like I am from any one place, but Slovenia
makes me feel like I have a hometown.
- Mark Dvornik,
Lewisville, Texas
On an open sea in a sailboat with my wife.
Many places will do, although if I had my choice, then the southern
tip of Barbuda would do quite nicely. No phone, no radio, no TV, no
newspaper, no computer connectivity … just the tranquility of the
gently rolling waves, incredibly fine pinkish white sand of the
distant beach, and the slowly sinking sun off to the western
horizon. … It is quite delightful to trade in the hustle and bustle
of the road warrior's existence for the enchanted silence of a warm
Caribbean night, a hotel room for a cozy cabin, and a business suit
for a pair of old shorts. Oh, and yes, that barefoot feeling of the
deck under your feet cannot be replaced by any pair of fancy shoes,
and I do not care if they have been custom-made by the best
shoemaker in West End London. … A smile gradually replaces the
ever-present frown, the whiteness of the skin vanishes in a matter
of a day, and the hurried pace of life is only a distant memory. I
wake up early in the morning not because I need to rush to the
airport but because the ocean calls, the sails want to be filled
with the trade winds, and there is yet another remote cove to be
discovered just a little farther down the coast. Indeed, besides
home, for me, there is no place like a sailboat on an open sea. -
Zdenek Holy, Cary,
North Carolina
Home. I have been in the military for over
24 years. It is my life. I've traveled around the world - Europe,
Asia,
Africa, the
Middle East, and other areas. But all that
travel, to places that many would describe as exotic, has never
included the wonderful or popular locations depicted in your travel
montage. As I thought about your essay question, my thoughts turned
to my wife and family. My chosen profession, service in the U.S.
Army, has caused me to be away from home more than I've been there.
Having missed so many birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, first
dates, first time driving a car, death of a beloved pet, etc.,
there is no place like home. Home, for me, has been and remains my
foundation, my touchstone, and, in many ways, that exotic popular
destination I look forward to visiting as often as I can. - Allen
Batschelet, Harker Heights, Texas
Blue Pumpkin. It's my favorite café in Siem
Reap,
Cambodia. It had the most amazing mango smoothie I have ever
tasted, and as soon as I sat down, a waiter materialized with a
cool, white, peppermint-scented facecloth. In a country so humid
that a minute outside causes even your eyeballs to sweat and the
dust from the street to stick to your skin in a damp red film, the
small pleasures at Blue Pumpkin were a welcome respite. I was in
Siem Reap for a brief pilgrimage to
Angkor Wat, an ancient Khmer
temple complex considered one of the most intriguing and beautiful
sets of ruins in the world. But even pilgrims must eat, so my daily
routine included an early breakfast at Blue Pumpkin. On my final
morning in Cambodia, as I sucked down my smoothie, a very young man
swathed in bright saffron robes appeared at the café's entrance and
stood silently, head bowed. A slender teenage waitress sprang off
her stool, returning a minute later with a bulging grocery bag of
food. She placed it in his hands. Without a word, she kneeled,
bowing her head to the young monk's feet. He blessed her and then
turned and walked quietly down the street. The waitress rose and
strode quickly back to the kitchen. Glass frozen in midair, straw
poised, I caught myself staring and looked down, but my mind was
buzzing. Did the monk come every day? Where did he go next? Was
this scene repeating itself in cafés all over town? Compared with
the shooing away of the steady trickle of beggars at the door, the
respect - not to mention the food - given to the monk stood out.
When I looked up again, the noisy bustle of the street had consumed
the silent void where monk and waitress had been, and the moment
was gone. The bright colors of that scene, the monk in orange, the
waitress in black and white, the food, the silence, the solemnity,
the rote familiarity with which they played their parts - I still
think about them. I have since read and learned more about the
importance of Buddhism and Buddhist monks in
Southeast Asia. The
scene at Blue Pumpkin was a sliver of tradition in the middle of a
country - in the middle of a continent - in flux. … But that one
moment in Blue Pumpkin was timeless and beautiful, and I would give
anything to go back. - Jane Lindholm, West Hollywood,
California
My storage unit. I was on the road 90
percent of the time, so renting in
California did not make
financial sense. So I moved all my stuff into storage (furniture,
memories, clothes, my life - all packed tightly into the end of the
storage unit), and then I drove my little car in too. The routine
is to land at the airport and then cab it to the storage unit. When
I roll up that creaky door, there is no place like it. The stuff
that defined and, who knows, maybe still defines, who I am, waiting
for me. … I start my car and remember the freedom that having a car
can give. As I open the sunroof and crank the tunes, I am free, and
the six weeks out of town just seem to melt away. No feeling like
it.
- Carol Skerrett, Oceanside, California
Atlanta's Coke Museum. There's a section in
the museum that has fountain drinks of all the different types of
Coke products across the world. You try one from
India and wonder
why they even have this drink, and then you try one from
Italy and
wonder why it's not in the
United States. Overall, it's a nice
place to relax and be surrounded by … fun people high on sugar from
the drinks. It's like traveling the world through taste. - Phil
Sheen,
Chicago, Illinois
Mali, West Africa. Mali may sound a bit
exotic. Most people don't even know where it is. "You mean Bali?"
they ask. "Malawi?" No,
Mali. I tell them
it's where Tombouctou (Timbuktu) is located. This is usually the
start of a long conversation. Most don't even know Tombouctou is a
real city. Telling anyone I lived there for almost two years sparks
a string of questions. Mali is Africa in its purest form and not
for the weak-hearted. It is not the Africa of safaris or the
beautiful coasts of
South Africa. It is harsh, pungent,
uncomfortable, fatiguing … but it is real, magical, lively, never
boring, and a place like no other. Mali is 2,000 years in the past,
clashing with the present. It is real, vibrant - a virtual museum
of West African life. It is centuries of culture laid out before
you. For me, there is no place like Mali, because this country
taught me not only lessons in traveling but lessons in life. Mali
taught me about different means of transportation: that four people
could fit on a moped, that a donkey cart was often the most
reliable means of transportation, and that pickup trucks with
wooden benches in the back could easily hold 25 people and several
goats, plus the driver and his apprentice. … Mali is one of the
poorest countries in the world, and the people are easily the most
friendly and warm-hearted. Does the World Bank or the United
Nations ever measure those statistics? Although Mali is a place
where children barely get enough to eat, a family in a village
there would not hesitate to slaughter their last chicken or goat to
be able to serve you, a perfect stranger, a meal fit for a king.
Such generosity, respect for others, and undying joyfulness even in
the face of the most bleak circumstances is a lesson I will never
forget. - Charles Villalobos, Manassas, Virginia
On the road. I first jutted my thumb in the
air to catch a ride soon after my 18th birthday. A rusty Buick
pulled over. The driver was missing three front teeth, and the
backseat was filled with what I imagine were all his belongings. I
got in and kept my backpack on my lap. After a couple of miles, the
driver leered in my direction and said he intended to rob me. I
couldn't believe my first-ever hitchhiking experience was going so
poorly. I always knew that traveling was in my cells. … During that
first ride, I managed to get the driver talking. Soon he was
laughing as I made fun of the local sheriff. When he dropped me
off, still chuckling, he thanked me. This helped boost my travel
confidence. Over the next three years, I hitchhiked 24,500 miles,
crisscrossing
North America. These travels as a "Roads Scholar"
culminated with a trip overseas, where I spent time in Buddhist
monasteries in
Japan and in
Korea. My travels didn't end there. I
became a dancer and a teacher of contact improvisation. Soon,
invitations from abroad began to arrive. Thirty years later, having
traveled by plane, train, boat, and foot, I've planted my feet in
81 cities in 22 countries on five continents. … I often wonder how
else but by being on the road can one have these experiences? Where
else does one encounter the tea master revealing the three legends
of the origin of oolong (dark dragon) tea and the correct way to
slurp the tea to get the full flavor? How but by traveling could
one experience the tango at a
milonga at
two a.m. in Buenos Aires? … Or see three men and a dog playing
soccer in Vienna? (And the dog was good - he could kick and use his
head to roll the ball to keep it to himself.) - Martin
Keogh, North Easton, Massachusetts
At the San Diego International Airport, there's
this escalator. It's really a pretty ordinary escalator. It
dumps thousands of people from the gate area into the luggage claim
and transportation center every day. I'm certain there's one like
it in almost every other airport, but this one, oh, it's special.
Why? Occasionally, my wife will brave traffic and bring my two
young children to the airport to pick me up. It's no secret that
there is no truer joy then being welcomed home by loved ones. But,
really, sometimes the anticipation of the reunion is just as
exciting. The kids stake out a place near the bottom of the
escalator, so it's really easy to spot them from the top. I scan
the crowd for their faces, find them, and step onto my personal
portal. If this escalator weren't there, I'd probably just run and
hug … and be happy. But this escalator, well, it keeps you from
running, and its leisurely pace allows me to slowly anticipate the
hugs and kisses from my loved ones. It's 30 seconds of seeing my
children be happy … just because they know I'm coming home.
- Charles Grisham, Oceanside, California
I know of a place that is so beautiful it can take your breath
away. It is a place of contradictions, opposing senses, and ever-
changing consequences. As I travel its land, I know that I will be
changed in some remarkable way. Being there, my heart has no hiding
place. The majesty of its mountains humbles me; the vibrant life of
the forests sings to my senses. The gentle rain of the waterfalls
washes me; the soft embrace of the verdant valleys nurtures me. All
at once I am alone in the still, chilled desert night and in the
heaving masses of the choked city. I can face dangerous creatures
and be welcomed to the hearth of a stranger. I can swim with the
sharks and stand on a hill at dusk among the swooping nighthawks. I
can walk between the pungent fish stalls in a dusty open-air market
and breathe the delicate scent of the frangipani carried on the
eastern breeze. I can inhale the history of the ancient ones who
lived before and fear their secret rituals. I can blaze untraveled
paths with trepidation and swim in the warm acceptance of the
ocean. In this land, I am master of my own domain and servant to
its bidding. It demands that I care for it and protect it, for
without it I cannot live. It is my lifeblood, my sustenance, my
learning, my adventure, my mother, my earth. She is all we have,
and as long as I live here, I will gladly reap the richness of her
beauty and be grateful for her abundant gifts and never become
complacent. There is no place like
Earth. -
Archie Tew,
Santa Fe, New Mexico
A window seat. Whether I'm traveling for
business or for pleasure, the air blowing full throttle through the
spinnable nozzle above my head lets me know that I'm headed
someplace. Unlike many business travelers, who seem to not notice
whether they're in midflight or accelerating through takeoff, I
always have my face glued to the window. … I know I'm traveling. As
the landscape fades away, I love the unique perspective that
altitude gives me. I can see my home in relation to the office and
the
golf course. … I notice that my home, office, and golf course
form a nearly perfect triangle. The window seat is the most
wonderful seat on an airplane. … I feel like the captain, and as it
was when I was a kid, I dream that I can fly! - Christopher
Marlowe,
Coral Gables, Florida
The golf course. Where else can you achieve
success (a well-struck three iron …) and fail-ure (… that goes out
of bounds) at the same time? Where else can you simultaneously act
like a child (sinking a long putt …) and a tyrant (… for a double
bogey)? Where else can you both enjoy (sunny, balmy weather) and
hate (bee stings) nature? Where else can you have so much fun with
your kids and be like them for a short while? Where else can you
teach them the lessons your father taught you, and have them
listen?
- Willis Samson, St. Louis, Missouri
The cafeteria. Some may find the college
cafeteria as a place to miss Mom's home-cooked meals. However, I
see it as the realization of my dreams. A place full of food for my
taking and for my liking. Sure, the meat may be a little shady and
the fruit not so fresh, but the options are limitless. Because of
this time-honored eating establishment, I can eat pizza for every
meal of every day of every month of every year, if I so desire.
But, Mom, don't fret, I do eat my vegetables, as long as they are
serving french fries with the burgers. Now, the food is not the
only factor involved in making a cafeteria. The people are perhaps
even more important. When else do you get to eat with 500 other
people your age and not have to clean up the frat house afterward?
In fact, more things happen in the cafeteria dining area at
dinnertime than in the student union at all hours combined. More
pranks are pulled and more traditions are started. And this is why
I went to college - for the wonderland that is called the
cafeteria. Just don't tell my mother that. - David Ritter,
Fremont, Indiana
Angel Stadium. Period. - Suzanne Spear,
Irvine, California
Bangor, Maine. I stepped onto American soil
for the first time in nearly eight months. I wanted to kiss the
ground. I left for
Iraq in March 2003 knowing little about what lay
in store. I arrived in
Kuwait, joined my U.S. Army unit (the 101st
Airborne Division based out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky), and fought
through jet lag to integrate into the preparations to cross "the
berm" - the line dividing Iraq and Kuwait. Over the following
eight months, my unit fought through the country, making stops in
An Najaf, Al Hillah,
Baghdad, Tikrit, and Mosul. It was sad to see
the destruction of war but joyous to watch Iraqi citizens
experience freedom for the first time. … By November 2003, it was
my time to leave. I boarded a plane from Mosul to Kuwait and
proceeded through the airports of Qatar,
Cyprus, and Shannon. Our
next stop was
Bangor,
Maine, and even Ambien could not induce sleep
or hope to contain my excitement about being back in the United
States, back to safety. In Bangor, we were greeted as heroes.
Volunteers in the local community lined the jetway. They applauded,
cheered, and offered us free phone calls to our loved ones. What a
great homecoming! I wanted to kiss the ground. For this reason,
Bangor, Maine, will always hold a special place in my heart. -
Kevin Terrazas,
Cambridge, Massachusetts
A good ballpark. By
ballpark, I mean
baseball stadium, with the local
team in town and playing that night. From single-A
minor-league stadiums to
Major League Baseball franchises,
there is no place like a ballpark. At a ballpark, you have a
snapshot of the local customs as well as the comfortable
feeling of belonging. From the sights, the sounds, and the
smells to the way it makes me feel, there is no place like
it. The local flavors come out in these stadiums. At
Seattle's
Safeco Field, there's the sushi-style Ichiro roll.
San Diego offers Riptide Red, a great local microbrew; the
Rockies offer
Coors Fresh from the Rocky Mountains; and the
Anaheim Angels have a great Knothole Club. There is always
the old standby - a hot dog and a cold beer - that is offered
at any stadium (and a guilty pleasure for me!). … The
different songs and sounds from the stadiums ring loud and
true. With the game on the line and the closers coming in,
San Diego offers "Hells Bells," the Dodgers offer "Welcome
to the Jungle," and the Mets play "Enter Sandman," each
electrifying the home crowd to no end. Being away from home
is not easy, but when I can attend a baseball game, it
lightens the load and takes my mind off work. It makes the
trip seem shorter, and it also gives me a reason to travel. -
Greg Giraldin,
Ladera Ranch, California
The inside of my suitcase. Whenever I fly
in, after checking in to the hotel, wherever it is and at whatever
time, the first thing that I find myself doing is opening up my
suitcase. … Unzipping the bag and opening it brings out a unique
bouquet of aromas that instantly turn an unknown hotel room into
something that is almost subconsciously more familiar. There is the
chlorine smell of home-washed clothes. The pepperminty and slightly
damp smell of the toothpaste that long ago squeezed itself out of
my grooming kit. The reassuringly familiar smell of leather belts
and shoes. The inside of my suitcase, really, is home away from
home.
- Jerome Jao, New Rochelle, New York
The cab to the airport. Regardless of how
many hundreds upon hundreds of flights I've taken in my lifetime, I
am still oftentimes giddy with anticipation of my next flight and
my upcoming visit to what is still frequently a place I've never
been to before. I think about the pleasantly maddening whirlwind
that is the airport, the gleaming airplanes scurrying around the
taxiways, and the thousands of travelers trying to get home or to
visit a friend or family not seen in a long time. I wonder how the
upcoming trip will go, what challenges or unique experiences will
occur on this trip, what new sights I may see, what surprising
conversation I may have with someone from a far different place
than I came from. I think about the sights that I probably never
would have seen otherwise, like a dusty central square in a small
Texas town, the natural beauty of
West Virginia, and a thunderstorm
rolling across the plains of
Nebraska. … I think, too, of the
places I've already been because of my frequent work travel, and
I'm thankful for the wonderful places I've visited as a road
warrior. During my cab ride to the airport, my little corner of
Chicago expands to a worldwide opportunity. - Mark Iammartino,
Chicago, Illinois
Sweezy Lake. Yep, that's the name of the
place: "Swee-zeee." Pronounced just like it's spelled. Sweezy is a
tiny lake in a tiny town whose name I've forgotten. For a couple of
summers when I was a kid, my parents had a cottage on that lake. …
I'm not sure this place would meet anyone's highfalutin
expectations of a summer home. The dumpy yellow house had a kitchen
almost big enough to turn around in, provided you were alone. And
slim. And not carrying anything. And the back porch had nary a
rocker. There was the red-and-green couch from the house my parents
lived in before I was born, and I think I remember a card table
with assorted chairs. … At Sweezy Lake, we kids ran around covered
in dirt, hyped up on grape sodas and hot dogs. We'd burp the
alphabet loudly. (I never got past E in one belch. I'm quite
dainty.) Our cottage at Sweezy Lake had a three-seat outhouse, the
first I'd ever encountered (and the only one I've seen since). I
could never understand why three people might decide to take a
sit-down in an outhouse together. … At Sweezy … my brothers taught
me to fish. For me, fishing meant waiting for a hook with a worm
already attached, and holding the fishing pole until it got a tug.
Then I'd shriek for someone to "get the fish, get the fish!"
Someone would take the pole and reel in the three-inch-long
sunfish. … After a few days straight of
swimming in the lake and
drying in the sun, we'd get a bit rank. So Dad would toss us kids
into the boat with a bottle of shampoo, and we'd head over to the
sandy-beach area of the lake. I don't know how clean we could
possibly get by bathing in lake water, but that counted as bath
time. After so many years, Sweezy Lake remains a snapshot in my
mind.
-
Amie Wyrostek,
San Antonio, Texas
The West African nation of Guinea-Bissau.
Guinea-Bissau is one of the poorest nations on earth and lacks a
tourist industry, which makes travel there adventurous and
different than in other locations. Throughout my life, I'd never
given much thought to Africa. All I knew about it were the pyramids
and mummies in
Egypt, and that Stanley found Livingston in the
jungle, Captain Jeffrey T. Spaulding shot an elephant in his
pajamas (how it got in his pajamas I'll never know), the armies of
Patton and Rommel fought there, and Humphrey Bogart told Sam to
"play it again" in
Casablanca. …
Guinea-Bissau changed my whole concept of Africa in general and of
the plight of the impoverished in particular. Outside the city of
Bissau, people live in grass houses. Children and women walk a
mile or more to fetch a few bucketfuls of water and then walk back
to their homes so they have water for cooking and washing. People
traverse land contaminated with deadly munitions of war, just to
pick the delicious cashew fruit for their meals or to farm a small
plot where they grow crops. Forget about what we consider life's
essentials: plumbing,
electricity, the Internet, and watching CSI.
The people there endure what we know to be extreme hardships, but
they're not unhappy or bitter. The people in Guinea-Bissau are
friendly and quick to smile. … What brought me to Guinea-Bissau is
the need there for expertise in destroying the military munitions
scattered throughout the country: bombs, rockets, and projectiles
remaining from the various armed conflicts and military occupations
that Guinea-Bissau (like many African and Asian nations) has
endured. … The country is special to me because it has a unique
need that I can help fill, and in the coming months and years,
Guinea-Bissau will become a better place for its citizens. - Dennis
Hackenberger,
North Las Vegas, Nevada
Terminal D at DFW. (Yes, I'm praying my
wife never reads this.) … Terminal D is a true oasis in the desert!
Where else can you do all your
Christmas shopping, pick up the
latest DVDs and a pair of noise-canceling headphones, and down two
or three of the best margaritas in town? That's right, Terminal D
at DFW! (No disrespect intended to Terminals A, B, and C.) Imagine
three soaring stories of beautiful retail and restaurants, accented
by glorious sculptures and dramatic skylights. If it were not for
the pesky flight announcements, you'd completely forget you are in
an airport. Whenever I fly in to DFW, I anxiously await the
announcement of our arrival gate as my plane taxis in. If it's not
in Terminal D, I hang my head in sorrow, but my hopes and prayers
are only temporarily dashed. After all, there's a 33 percent
chance that my connecting flight will leave from Terminal D. If
not, then things get
really interesting.
Do I have enough time in my layover to hop on the Skylink, get over
to Terminal D, soak in the ambience at the bar in Cantina Laredo,
and then make it back to Terminal A or C in time for my departure?
Sometimes I feel like
Tom Cruise in
Mission:
Impossible trying to pull it off (well, maybe not exactly
like Tom Cruise). I remember the time I had a three-hour layover in
Terminal D. I was safely ensconced in the luxurious Terminal D
Admirals Club, sitting there mesmerized by the soaring panorama of
touchdowns and takeoffs. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending
on your perspective), I had forgotten to adjust my watch to Central
time, and I missed my connection. Oh joy! I had another four hours
to bask in Terminal D's glory. … Happy travels, and may all your
DFW layovers include a Terminal D connection! - Corey Sommers,
Santa Clara, California
Some parts of the country call them diners, some
call them greasy spoons, others call them Waffle House or Denny's -
but I call them my kitchen, and there's no place like one of these
restaurants for me. The hours of operation accommodate my
crazy work and travel schedule. … Accessibility from the highway is
key. I can eat at the counter and chat with the short-order cook,
or I can get a booth and talk to my wife while I eat - either way,
I get to glance at the local color that I don't normally get to see
inside the airport, the hotel, or the office building where I am
working. Not to mention, I love the comfort food! I've probably
eaten in one of these establishments at every hour of the day.
Red-eye flights, client deadlines, time-zone changes, and the
travel hiccups that are bound to happen when you fly more than
100,000 miles a year mean that dinnertime isn't just at six p.m.
for me. … Pulling out of the rental-car lot in the wee hours of the
morning, I've learned to scan the highways for billboards or tall
signs calling me to these eateries. … I've visited 47 of the 50
states and … even adopted tastes that reflect some of the regions
where I've spent time. … Now, some people might wonder why I
haven't tried all of the great restaurants that so many cities have
to offer. … But that's just it - I have. I spend many nights out to
dinner either entertaining clients or meeting with coworkers, but
many of these dinners are just an extension of work for me. The
24-hour eatery is like my kitchen. This is where I go when I want
late-night
comfort food like eggs and hash browns or a greasy bacon
cheeseburger. And what about dessert? Well, I leave that to the
airports - I know where the ice cream stands are at just about
every major airport in the United States!
— Peter Cavallo, Centerport, New York