Namibia: Seeking the Skeleton Coast

Everyone has at least one fantasy destination. Mine was the remote, fog-shrouded Skeleton Coast area of western Namibia.  I had once seen a photo of a huge male lion striding along the beach in the mist.  I had dreamed of elephants in the surf. For me fantasy became reality one October when my friend Katy and I set off on a flying safari with Stefan van Wyk, owner of Bush Pilots Namibia, a safari and air charter service. The Skeleton Coast – my ultimate destination.  But I had no idea that on my journey to the seductive and treacherous coastline, littered with the bones of those who could not survive its harshness, I would end up cavorting with wild leopards, kissing baby cheetahs, lounging with untamed lionesses, sleeping by a river full of crocodiles, and, oh yes, hunting with four naked men. Read more...

Sleepless in Botswana

I am in Botswana in search of the ultimate African safari. "I want to stay in remote places where animals walk right through the camp,"

I had said confidently to the booking agent.  You must be careful what you wish for.  It is a good thing I start out laughing, for there will be several nights I will lie frozen stiff in my cot, wondering why I am spending thousands of dollars to stay alone in a flimsy canvas tent in the wild African bush, sleep deprived and scared half out of my wits. Read more...

Taking The Cure in Bulgaria

A self-confessed spa junkie, I've been slathered with bright blue clay during the infamous turquoise wrap at the Golden Door. I've been blissed out by hot stones placed between my toes at The Orchid. I have huffed and puffed my weight-loss way up hills at the Oaks in Ojai. I've tried every mud bath in Calistoga and even splurged on the overrated champagne facial at the Sonoma Mission Inn. So when I decided to visit Bulgaria on the recommendation of some travel-savvy friends, I couldn't wait to check out Bulgarian health spas.  I was in for a big surprise. Serious spa-goers in Bulgaria don't come to knock off a couple of pounds or get their pores cleansed – they come to cure what ails them. And the cure  is mostly in the water. Read more...

Remembrance of Things Past: Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise

Secretly I am glad that Pere Lachaise closes at sundown.

During the day, the shady, tree-lined streets of Paris’ most elegant cemetery are peaceful; sunlight falls softly on Louvre-quality sculptures and filters through stained-glass windows. Birds flutter. A stray cat scurries by. Respectful onlookers consulting their maps make crunching noises through the fallen leaves. There is nothing amiss here.

But this is the final resting place for 100,000 departed souls.  Some famous. Some infamous. I don’t think I would want to wander around Pere Lachaise after dark. Read more...

Bethlehem 2002

Ugly chunks of concrete and dust-covered army trucks block the road into Bethlehem. At the main checkpoint, two young soldiers wearing silver sun glasses and machine guns, pore over passports and papers.  Snapping in the October breeze is a blue and white Israeli flag. Off to the left I see a new Israeli settlement – a treeless jumble of block-like apartments and condos.

This is Bethlehem?

The Bethlehem of my youth, the little town I sang about at Christmastime, was a place of safety and promise: a child placed  lovingly in a manger, a mysterious star, wise men with exotic gifts. This Bethlehem is a war zone. Read more...