I recently started reading and enjoying the blog called “Sociological Images,” which I find to be provocative and insightful. But a recent post by Lisa Wade gave me pause. From the post:

Sadie M. sent in an example of the reproduction of the idea that “Africa” is an arid, desolate place where nature still dominates civilization…Despite all of this, Sadie’s snapshot shows that an in flight magazine depicted Nairobi as a savanna full of elephants and bereft of people. The other two destinations featured – New York and Sydney — are pictured as they are.”

Basically, the argument is that in the promotional material covering Nairobi–a huge metropolis–the PR people are falling for an “Out of Africa” style fantasia. This seems like a good concept to be vigilant about, but misguided in this specific case.

To be clear, I agree with Lisa’s impulse–Betty has also blogged in a similar vein, about the concerns that a poverty tour in South Africa veers too close to the concept of a tour of the “human zoo.” Defining South Africa, or Kenya, for Western eyes is a fraught business. But in this particular case, a national park located inside the city of Nairobi makes this particular criticism incorrect.

Photos and video from the park after the jump.

I was in Nairobi for the first time in June, and it confounded my expectations. It was a work trip, and I spent a great deal of the time in meeting rooms, or in cars taking me to meeting rooms, watching the vast swath of humanity walking through the streets at all hours.

But because of a fluke, my colleagues and I missed our scheduled flight to Dar Es Salaam, and wound up with an unscheduled afternoon. We were behind a huge pile of tourists checking out of the hotel and heading on safari–and not the cool, low-to-the-ground style safari Betty does, but the all-expenses-paid extravaganza. When in Nairobi, we thought, we had nothing else to do until our meetings could be rescheduled. We took a couple of hours, packed up some snacks, and headed out to the nearby national park.

As the Wikipedia entry on the park explains:

Nairobi National Park is a national park in Kenya. Established in 1946, the national park was Kenya’s first. It is located approximately 7 kilometres (4 mi) south of the centre of Nairobi, Kenya’s capital city, with only a fence separating the park’s wildlife from the metropolis. Nairobi’s skyscrapers can be seen from the park.

In other words, photos of wildlife pictured aren’t necessarily erasing the city of Nairobi, but potentially accurately capturing it. The one caveat of the particular picture in the in flight magazine is that there aren’t elephants in the park, so that’s likely a nearby nature preserve. But there are the rest of the “big five,” most of which we were lucky to see. Including a lion:

We were touring the park in these funny pop-up-top vans, and with a lion so close to the road, it caused the drivers to speak semi-frantically on their walkie-talkies, causing a three-van pileup nearby. I was as interested in the other sightseers as the lions themselves:

We saw an adorable little black rhino, as well as a fleet of impalas. But my favorite, by far, were the giraffes:

I find their motion mesmerizing:

The urban humanity is an undeniable part of Nairobi, of course–but so is everything pictured above.

I spent the New Year’s in Texas, and the hands-down highlight of the whole affair was a trip to a funky little joint named the Flying Fish in Joshua, near Fort Worth, Texas.

Now, one disclaimer: We at newelty try not to write about food very much since 1) everyone and your grandma has a food blog and 2) most of it reads like people trying to sound like Top Chef judges. So I’ll keep this simple: The catfish tacos were out of this world, and mostly, the Flying Fish was exactly the kind of place that’s fun to travel to, that reminds you that there are hidden away backwaters that seem to sum up everything about the place you’re visiting.

Photo tour, y’all, after the jump.

Personal preference–I love any place where you have to order at the counter. Too many formative years spent at Philly pizza joints, I guess. I also love signs that seem to never change, as well as have little notes in the corner, as this one does: “Is your kid FINIKY? Feed ‘em some FISH food!”

I had never in my life been to a place that included a sign encouraging you to visit the Ozarks:

Or, for that matter, reminded you to keep your unlicensed guns in the car–while in the ladies’ room:

When two cowboys dropped in, ordered tacos, and sat down to watch the Dallas Cowboys’ game, I just about fell out of my seat with happiness–how much more Texan could you get?

I listened to what little country music I had on my iPhone on the flight home–Teddy Thompson, mostly, plus some Willie Nelson. And schemed about ways to get more of that key lime pie next time.

Manzanita is where I come to get my hope back. When I first visited here, all I could see was the run-downness: typical remnants of the boom times in logging days, sad strip malls of shops, empty streets, donuts and ice cream for sale. But I’ve come to appreciate it in a way that makes it one of my favorite places to visit in the world.

Manzanita is gentle. People talk softly in that Northwest way. In a place with only 250 people in the winter, you can still buy quinoa, some yarn, good books.

In New York, if you leave the house without combing your hair, you’re either a crazy person or a Brooklyn hipster. Here, it just might not be that important to you to do so. Or you just might keep on a knitted hat all day to fight the chill of shops that are creaky and without insulation.

The locals like it in the winter. They have to, I guess. The girl I talked to described the summer as chaos, when she wouldn’t even let here dogs run down the beach, there are too many people. (The aren’t.) In the winter, this place is quiet, still. Peaceful and beautiful.

P.S. The photo and video were taken at Bayocean, a state park 40 minutes down Highway 101 from Manzanita, near Tillamook. Don’t stay in Tillamook, though. It’s all Super-Safeways and cheese palaces. Manzanita has the feel that matches these pictures and videos.

P.P.S Bayocean has an absurdly fascinating, ramshackle history of its own–the city washed into the sea. It would probably have appealed to Emily, sentimentalist that she was.

Called the Avenue Verte, it already includes views like this in the finished sections:

Here’s how the writer described the French side:

Towards Paris, you travel for a number of miles along the wooded banks of the Seine, long stretches of which look as though they have changed little since Monet and Renoir captured the green-tinged reflections of the water more than a century ago. Then, after a stretch of industrial hinterland, the route follows canal towpaths to within a stone’s throw of its end-point – Notre Dame cathedral.

More on the British side after the jump.

He also calls out his fellow Brits for not rising to the challenge of converting their side:

The French have converted the railways into broad, hard-surfaced tracks, suitable for rollerbladers and wheelchairs as well as cyclists. They have also kept control of vegetation around the path, so that for the most part the surrounding countryside can be seen and enjoyed.

On the British side the paths are so overgrown that they resemble tunnels, providing barely a glimpse of the world outside. Mile after mile, this becomes monotonous.

One of my favorite things about Europe is how their leaders are willing to invest in plans like these. They might seem far-fetched and expensive, but they will benefit generations, never mind tourists.

Check out the videos he took while on the trails, and see what you think. Oh, and you can watch video of my own bike-based daily commute while I was in the Netherlands this summer.

Infrastructure = heaven.

But I was trying to be prudent and wanted to take advantage of the Pacific Northwest’s gorgeous weather this time of year. So I ultimately decided on a four-day trip to Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands.

I really can’t stress enough the beauty of these islands. They are only a 90-minute drive north from Seattle, and then an hour or so ferry ride. But they might as well be 20 hours from the nearest big city, because they are so unspoiled, and once you are there, it feels like you are practically alone.

Notice I say feels like you are alone once you’re there. Because you wouldn’t know it from the ferry lines in Anacortes, the town where you catch the boats. For a 3:45 pm ferry leaving on a Friday, we got there two hours beforehand, and cars stretched for miles waiting to get on. We ended up with a standby ticket, and were told we might make that ferry. Oh, and the boat was an hour behind schedule. At 5 pm, we were one of the last cars on.

But then — we were whisked away. And I quickly forgot about the wait. Because it really is that beautiful.

I ultimately chose the island of Orcas because it reminds me of Block Island off the coast of Rhode Island, where my family used to vacation when I was a kid. Orcas’ main town of Eastsound is in the middle of the island, and two decent size mountains — Turtleback Mountain and Mount Constitution — are on either end of the island’s horseshoe shape. Orcas has a great mixture of endless coastlines, mountain hikes, small villages, and is the home of talented artisans.

We decided to stay on the far end of the island at a place called Doe Bay Resort & Retreat. I was a tad reluctant to book here because I’m not into resorts, and I’m not into retreats. I find resorts boring and expensive and usually suck everything that I like about travel out of a destination. I stayed at the famous Rosario Resort on Orcas once, and meh. The accommodations were tired, the food was marginal and I wanted out.

But Doe Bay! Doe Bay is not a resort. And it’s not a retreat. At first I thought it might feel a tad hippie dippy for me, but it wasn’t. It’s whatever you want it to be. You can camp. Or you can car camp. Or you can stay in a yurt. Or a small cabin. Or a house. It was clean, unpretentious and the grounds were  immaculate. The staff was friendly and helpful. There’s a sauna and plunge pools, beach access, and they have a spectacular restaurant.

We camped in a spot overlooking the water, and had this for dinner:

I loved the juxtaposition of a tent and sleeping bags coupled with a delicious meal. Oh — and the whole experience was reasonably priced, too.

Yay for Doe Bay!

Admittedly, it’s a hard sell for those of us who don’t have a year to spend traveling around the world. A friend I talked to today had an itinerary that involved one day in Paris, two days in London, and two days in Scotland. There’s not a lot of breathing room in that plan for an afternoon spent in a swimsuit.

But here’s why it’s a good idea, and not just if you’re the kind of person who enjoys Hawaii. A trip to the beach in Europe is just as valid a sightseeing day as one spent at a museum. And if you need more rationale, here are five solid reasons:

1. Because if you ever went to the beach as a kid, this beach trip will be nothing like that.

Whenever I’ve visited a European beach, my novelty-meter is completely full by the time I leave. As a kid, I spent time in Ocean City, New Jersey, where boardwalks and hoagies were the big deal of the day.

It’s a little different to spend time on La Grand Plage of Biarritz, France, where elegant striped cabanas line the sidewalk:  

When I first saw them, I thought: These people know how to live. It just seemed so…James Bond-y, circa 1966.

2. Because every vacation needs a break in the action.

Personally, I don’t have any interest in taking a cruise. I’m snobby about all-inclusive vacations. I like to strike out on my own, figuring out bus and train schedules, and booking my own hotels.

But let’s be honest: That’s a lot of variables, and a lot of work. Experienced travelers enjoy building in some slack into their itineraries, and I agree with them. Even if it’s an overcast day at the beach, there’s still something interesting to see.

In a few short days, I’ll be on the beachy island of Texel (pronounced “tessel”), part of the same trip that includes a week-long Dutch language immersion at Dutch Princess School. A juxtaposition of intense cultural experience and laid-back beachtime seems like a nice balance. Plus, the cultural exchange doesn’t stop just because it’s a beach town: The hotel website offered to reserve bikes for me during my stay. How very, very Dutch.

3. Because the natural world is worth the time as much as the human-made world.

Appreciating natural beauty doesn’t come easy to me. I’m a city girl. But a windswept coastline with a rickety bridge is a charming, memorable site. I didn’t need the explanation to enjoy it, or to know the connection to the Eiffel Tower.

Living in the Pacific Northwest, I’ve had to adjust my idea of what a beach day is. Oftentimes, it doesn’t involve baking in the sun, but appreciating grey skies like the kind you see above, or in this photo I took in Mull, Scotland, as incredible to me as any cathedral or medieval castle I’ve ever been to.

4. Because you might be there for Bastille Day or another happenstance celebration–the kind where everyone else is on vacation, too.

I love museums, and have done the art slog, trying to scrape 10 hours out of quality art absorption out of a timed all-day pass. On my last visit to Versailles–number three, mind you, which might have taught me a lesson about the sheer size of the estate–a sightseeing stroll turned into a full-on death march in 90 degree heat.

In Biarritz, I was lucky enough to be there for Bastille Day. Everyone around me was enjoying the fireworks and the time off work. It was cheerful in the way that national holidays, summer festivals, and other relaxed, warm-weather nights can be. No one was carrying a map, a guidebook, or an agenda. Instead, an entire town of people settled in to watch the fireworks:

That travel memory means more to me than rooms full of Dutch Masters I saw at the Louvre.

5. Because wherever they are in the world, beaches are some of the most beautiful, fun places on earth.

The hotel might smell of smoke or be too loud for your liking. The lines at the museum might keep you standing in the hot sun for an hour longer than you liked. The other museum you meant to see might be on the far side of town, and closed on Tuesdays. The restaurant might put too much salt on your food, overcharge you, or never bring you that drink you ordered.

But it’s hard to imagine a day like this one (on the Côte des Basques in Biarritz) disappointing anyone.

The idea of being buried in a crypt or some spooky cemetery with an elaborate gravestone conjures images that don’t equate resting in peace.

With that said, however, I share Lia’s fascination with graveyards, and when I was in Argentina in January I visited the infamous La Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires.

Most people flock there to visit Eva Perón’s grave, which is actually quite anticlimactic as it is very understated. (I also don’t get the cultural obsession with her).

La Recoleta is large and is laid out to feel like city blocks. Large mausoleums hold past Argentinean presidents, cultural figures and other wealthy aristocrats.

Some of these structures are incredibly ornate and extremely impressive. You can’t help but feel reverence, and national pride exudes everywhere.

If I had to choose my favorite from the thousands of gravestones, this would be it.

Louise Bourgeois died on Monday. That’s her giant spider sculpture pictured above, part of her Maman (a.k.a. “mama”) series. I liked how ominous it looked against the sunset in Bilbao.

In honor of a woman who became famous as an artist late in life, this post is all about making sure you get what you want out of your time on earth. For me, that means travel.

When the Bilbao Guggenheim–a crazy-beautiful museum in what was a kind of run-down port city–was first revealed, I put a picture of it as the background on my computer at work. For years, I had it in the back of my mind as a place I’d like to see.

Imagine how happy I was when I looked out my hotel window to this view:

The museum itself was surprisingly small. I guess I expected more art on display, but it felt like visiting about a third of the MOMA.

Still, I take pleasure in stuff like this–a tri-lingual sign that includes Basque, a regional language for this part of Spain:

If you ever visit this Guggenheim, here’s my tip that I hadn’t read about in any guidebook: There’s a great little park around back. Next time, I’ll bring a picnic.

Museums hate to let you take pictures on the inside, but–sorry–it was too spectacular. I had to sneak one in.

You can’t really make it out too well in this photo, but on the left side are running red LED lights, a piece by Jenny Holzer. I love her projected sayings (photos of many of them here and a discussion that includes her Bilbao project here).

It was a nice moment for me, because I had also appreciated Jenny’s work at the Peggy Guggenheim museum in Venice, pictured below.

When writing an elegy for a great artist like Louise, including another thought-provoking work of art by another artist seems somehow fitting:

Hooray for the weekend! I have big plans. They include a three-day getaway to the Oregon Coast (whose virtues we’ve already discussed) and not wasting two hours at Sex and the City (which Betty and I expressed doubt and concern about, just based on the trailer). I’ll be trip planning for my upcoming adventure at Dutch language school.

Trip planning used to stress me out. Now, I love it, because let’s face it–when novelty is a key reason for why you like to travel, there are no wrong answers. Take, for example, the Dutch national park, which I may or may not include in this trip. It’s famous for its free white bikes, shown above. (Notice how they’re not locked to anything?)

But the first time I went, on assignment for the Travel Company That Shall Not Be Named, I wasn’t quite so sanguine.

I wasn’t sure to expect. The Netherlands is a tiny country, so I knew that it wouldn’t be Yellowstone.

I took the bus to Otterlo, the closest town to the national park, which didn’t seem all that remarkable at first glance.

Then I noticed this sign.

Except–hello, my fellow Americans–it dates from 1150. Eleven. Fifty. And that’s not even a big honking deal.

Anyway. When you’re paid to travel for a living, it can be easy to feel like a big shot. Look at me! I’m livin’ the dream!

This is absurd, of course. The downside of novelty-seeking is that everything is actually new to you. Which means, by default, you don’t know anything about it.

I had read about the famous white bikes of Holland’s national park. Walking from Otterlo in the general direction of the park, feeling a little uneasy, I decided that this place was probably where the white bikes could be found, since “fiets” is the Dutch word for bicycle:

Um, no. I hadn’t walked far enough. I didn’t want a sketchy little garage.

I wanted this:

Slightly different, no?

The park itself was amazing. What started out seeming like a forest became sand dunes, and then–even in the middle of summer–because something like the tundras and vistas I associate with Betty’s incredible photos of South Africa.

Does that look like northern Europe to you?

One of the best parts of the Hoge Veluwe national park is that it’s like a Kinder Surprise: Awesome candy shell with a shiny toy in the middle.

In this case, it’s the Kröller-Müller Museum, a temple to modern art dropped there by two Germans (hence the umlauts in the name).

Inside were stacks of incredible art, including the second biggest collection of Van Goghs (second only to the…you guessed it…Van Gogh Museum).

Sure, why not? Just another day at the park in the Netherlands.

Dappled sunlight, a bike ride or two, and a maybe a snack. Oh, and masterpieces keeping you company on your way out.

The Dutch really do have this quality-of-life stuff figured out.

I still haven’t decided whether to go back or not. It’s an incredible place, but the search for novelty might push me in new directions, rather than returning to the park. Stay tuned.

I had a blast at Paris’ Cimetière du Père Lachaise (with a great interactive tour here), so it didn’t strike me as weird to bust out the photography when at Westwood Village Memorial Park Cemetery, Marilyn Monroe’s final resting place.

The lipstick traces are fun. They reminded me of Oscar Wilde’s grave–also at Père Lachaise–which was covered with kisses when I visited there. (Evidently, to his grandson’s annoyance.)

My great friend Harry showed me around the place, pointing out the markers for Ray Bradbury and Dean Martin.

Harry and I both consider Some Like It Hot one of the best movies ever, so it was interesting to see that most of the cast was not too far from Marilyn, including the director:

In case you can’t make it out, it says “I’m a writer but then nobody’s perfect.” I can say this was the first funny gravestone saying I’d ever seen.

Then I came across Jack Lemmon (another Some Like It Hot) co-star:

On the way out, I was distracted by how this cemetery, unlike Père Lachaise, which is surrounded with somber majesty, was shoehorned in between giant skyscrapers:

There’s something very L.A. about that to me. And speaking of very L.A., how amusing is it that even after death, Ms. Gabor doesn’t reveal her age?