Once upon a time there was a sweet little California girl who partied like a rock star and looked like a movie star (think: full length leather coat with fur collar and cuffs)….no, that’s not me……this would be Teresa Rodriguez Williamson, author and diva who jetted her way to Europe this month to do some whirlwind research for her new book “Flying Solo: 50 Top Destinations for Women” (or something to that effect). We planned a crossing of party paths in Paris in order to conduct some important diva-esque business… oops, I mean PLEASURE.

Teresa’s savvy press credentials scored her some tricky digs at the unthinkably chic and luxurious Hotel de la Tremoille, smack in the heart of Paris’ “Golden Triangle” in the 8th arrondisement. While she was rubbing elbows with the likes of Givenchy and Chanel, I was wandering a bit lost up in the north part of the 8th trying to locate my postage-stamp size, not-so-tricky, 2-star hotel: the Madeleine Opera. In its defense, I enjoyed a peep show view inside neighboring Parisian apartments and was only a stiletto-stumble away from both the Printemps and Galeries Lafayette mega department stores.

Methought that Teresa might enjoy a surprise Thanksgiving dinner, considering she was busy scouring the land of baguettes and brie while her family enjoyed turkey and sweet potatoes this week back in the homeland. I rang up American ‘chef’ Jim Haynes, a double-decade resident of Paris, who has been cooking up weekly Sunday dinners at his flat for whoever would care to join. For 25 euros, we got turkey/stuffing/pumpkin pie and accoutrements, including cheap wine and beer, in copious quantities. While his flat is built for two, on Sunday evenings it is normally crammed with about 50-60 of his most intimate friends and soon-to-be friends (like us!). Our boy James Montague joined us, having become a wild fan of American cuisine after my own Parisian Thanksgiving dinner last year during our raucous days of French school.

Monday found us waxing a little more française at the touristy-but-historical Café Les Deux Magots in St-Germain-des-Prés. We rubbed elbows with the ghosts of Hemingway and Sartre, while Teresa sampled the assortiment du fromage (assorted cheeses) and I savored the signature salad.

But wait, did I glimpse one of those faaaaaaaaabulous little signs… “Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé!” ?!?! Oh yes, it was only days after the 3rd Thursday in November, and so the sweet new wine of the season was HERE. I recalled wistfully (blurrily…vaguely…) the outstanding night of Beaujolais Nouveau carousing just one year prior, when around 15 of us unwittingly packed into a popular gay bar in Paris, drinking bottles upon jugs of the sticky sweet wine, miraculously bursting into ever-more-fluent-French as the night went on, hoping we’d find our way home before class the next morning.

But, I digress. On this day, one year wiser (and with the memory of that hangover not so distant), I responsibly ordered just one little glass of the Beaujolais Nouveau and vowed to stay out of gay bars.

Between walking tours with Paris professional advisor Antoinette Azzurro, Christmas shopping at Printemps, and glasses of champagne on the Ile-St-Louis, the afternoon was packed with pure pleasure. Our decadence continued late into the night as we lingered over Moroccan cuisine and practiced our best Arabic (excluding the swear words) at the posh El Mansour in the 8th. After a few glasses of French white, we shared our deepest scandals and toasted the glorious future…

By Tuesday, Teresa was ready for some hands-on book research. And what’s more hands on than a Parisian massage?! In the spirit of our Moroccan meal the night before, I spirited her away to the exclusive and exotic Aux Bains Montorgueil, the Moroccan-hammam-with-a-French-twist, hidden in the dark hallways of 55 rue Montorgueil. The spa itself is gloriously decorated with the finest Moroccan techniques – colorful, geometric tilework known as zellij, intricate plasterwork, wrought iron candleholders, heavy wooden doors with traditional iron knockers… all enhanced with fragrant incense, cinnamon orange slices, mint tea … so very ‘Arabian nights’! Our two hours of pleasure began with a leisurely stint in the eucalyptus-infused steam room, followed by a totally naked exfoliation experience at the accomplished hands of Wafa and Fatia, a hot rinse under a waterfall-like showerhead, and a freezing dunk in the gorgeous underground pool. The crowning glory was the argan oil massage, a totally sensuous rubdown using the highly-prized, fragrant oil of the Moroccan argan tree.

My escape to heaven ended abruptly with notice of the time. It was 1pm, and my flight back home to Hamburg was leaving Charles de Gaulle airport at 3pm. The masseuse had advised me to “let zee argan oil enreesh zee skeen az loong az c’est possible”, so I skipped the shower, slithered into my clothes, tied a scarf chicly around my wet hair, tossed some supermodel sunglasses onto my makeupless face, kissed Teresa adieu and headed for the train!

After a combo-pack of comical calamities, enhanced by the French handwritten love letter slipped to me by an amorous young Parisian dude, I managed to miss my flight by about 17 seconds. Tears at the gate did not help (I tried). I talked myself onto the next flight to Frankfurt, which routed me on to Hamburg and back into the arms of my fabulous man (who took one whiff and exclaimed “babe, take a shower!”).

Last I heard from our world-traveling diva Teresa, she was fighting off would-be suiters in Prague…an absinthe in one hand and a Chanel bag in the other!

Vivre les divas!

Haute Paris Info !
Hotel de la Trémoille (4 stars)
14, rue de la Trémoille
75008 Paris
+33 (0)1 56 52 14 00 phone
+33 (0)1 40 70 01 08 fax
http://www.hotel-tremoille.com/
metro: Alma Marceau

Hotel Madeleine Opéra (2 stars)
12, rue Greffulhe
75008 Paris
+33 (0)1 47 42 26 26 phone
+33 (0)1 47 42 89 76 fax
http://www.hotel-madeleine-opera.com/
metro: Havre-Caumartin

Jim Haynes
(call for address)
75014 Paris
+33 (0)1 43 27 17 67
metro: Alésia or Saint-Jacques

Café Les Deux Magots
6, place St-Germain-des-Près
75006 Paris
+33 (0)1 45 48 55 25 phone
+33 (0)1 45 49 31 29 fax
http://www.lesdeuxmagots.fr/
metro: St-Germain-des-Près

Antoinette Azzurro
Paris Personalized
+33 (0)6 63 24 59 40
aazzurro@hotmail.com
www.parispersonalized.com

Au Printemps
64, boulevard Haussmann
75009 Paris
+33 (0)1 42 82 57 87
www.printemps.com
metro: Havre-Caumartin

El Mansour – Restaurant Marocain
7, rue de la Trémoille
75008 Paris
+33 (0)1 47 23 88 18 phone
+33 (0)1 40 70 13 53
metro: Alma Marceau

Aux Bains Montorgueil
55, rue Montorgueil
75002 Paris
+33 (0)1 44 88 01 78
auxbainsmontorgueil@wanadoo.fr
metro: Les Halles or Etienne Marcel

One of the many glorious perks of living in Europe and dating an international pilot is the opportunity to fly to interesting, exotic, or even never-heard-of locales on a moment’s notice (and, of course, at a fraction of the regular price). Recognizing that thousands of travel addicts around the world would die to be in my shoes, this is a situation I take most seriously.

Most recently, my beau called me between flights and said “hey babe, what do you think about Graz?” I paused for a moment, scrambling for my mental map of Europe, and replied hesitantly “ummm, you mean the Graz in ….uhhh… Switzerland?”

“Honey, you think everything is in Switzerland. It’s in Austria.”.

“Ohhhh, you mean THAT Graz. Right, right. Never been there.”

“Well it’s a beautiful city and I have a day off there between flights. The airline puts us up at a five-star hotel in the center of town. Would you like to join me?”

The next thing he heard was the sound of the phone hitting the floor and the zipper of my overnight bag being ripped open…

* * *

In my brief flurry of Graz due-diligence, I learned that my very own governor, Mr. Arnold Schwarzenegger, was born in Graz (ok, 10 km away… close enough). So I sort of imagined Graz to be this town of big, muscular Austrian bodybuilders wearing dark sunglasses. This wasn’t quite what I found.

What I did find was just about the most charm per square meter in all of Europe. I mean, maximum charm, minimum walking. My kind of town. As an added bonus, we discovered that ‘old town’ Graz is itself a UNESCO world cultural heritage site.

My sources tell me that when Arnold is in town, he stays at the deluxe, 5-star Grand Hotel Wiesler, located on the river Mur near old town. We enjoyed his good taste in our own deluxe corner room at the Wiesler. I particularly appreciated the excellent photographic exhibits lining the hotel hallways, the fluffy down comforters and the dark chocolate on my pillow.

Being the high-altitude guy that he is, my other half suggested a trip to the top of the Schlossberg, the small mountain plopped right in the center of town. Rather than tackle the 260-step stairway, we opted for the foot-saving funicular that takes visitors straight to the top. An outdoor café on the ramparts was a perfect place for lunch, where we chose pumpkin crème soup and an array of local Styrian meats and cheeses (Styria being the province in which Graz is located) and admired the view over the famous red roofs of the city. A short stroll took us to the Belltower and the eye-catching Clocktower, which apparently has been around since the 1200s. We learned that Napoleon wanted to blow up both the towers during his rampage through Austria, but the good citizens of Graz smartly ransomed them for a pretty penny.

A spookily-lit, James Bond-like glass elevator took us through a small rock-blasted vertical corridor back down to ground level, but we were still in the heart of the mountain. We had to run surreptitiously through about 100 yards through dark tunnel, wearing our head-to-toe, black Mission Impossible outfits and night-vision goggles, rappelling off walls with tension ropes before we emerged back into the daylight. I was then happy to put away my momentary spy outfit & start on some serious shopping.

Sackstraße is Graz’s main shopping street, with art galleries, restaurants, jewelers, clothing boutiques, antique and junk stores (including a peculiar store which seems to sell nothing but ancient electrical components). In addition to window shopping, we checked out some mysterious passageways and casually trespassed into private courtyards. My shopping bags quickly became weighted down with Mozartkugel chocolates, a chic corduroy jacket, a bottle of Styrian rosé, and a few other odds and ends.

We emerged on the über-charming main square of Graz (Hauptplatz), which is filled with food stalls selling, among other things, God’s gift to gourmets: pumpkinseed oil. I can assure you, this stuff takes salads from ‘yum’ to ‘Totally Orgasmic’ in about 1 teaspoon. You can bet I have my own bottle now…

No trip to Graz would be complete without a visit to the royal bakery (Hofbäckerei Edegger Tax). I was duly impressed with the fancy neo-baroque exterior, but was more interested in the pastries. There was a bowl of “Sissibusserls” on the counter (little chocolate hazelnut cookies with marmalade), to which I helped myself to a big handful. Turns out they weren’t samples, and the lady behind the counter quickly whisked them away. I must have looked disappointed, because she suggested that we sit at one of the café tables and order something to eat. Well… ok.

One Graz peculiarity that caught our attention was the large number of Scots around the city. How did we know they were Scottish? Because they were fully decked in kilts, feathered caps, and the occasion bugle (trumpet). Our curiosity was intensified when we strolled by a side street that practically exploded of loud music, beer, and Scottish people. Further inquiry alerted us that a soccer game between Austria & Scotland that night had prompted the kilted invasion. (post game report: It was a tie.)

From an architectural standpoint, the history and quaintness of Graz is loudly confronted by some recent additions to the city. Our eyes were first assailed by a decidedly unquaint, gigantic amorphous structure which turned out to be the very contemporary Kunsthaus, or art museum. It seems to resemble a giant blue human heart with arteries popping out on top. We were also startled to spot a silver, fish-like structure ‘floating’ in the center of the Mur river, attached to each bank by a walking bridge. Apparently this ‘island’ was built as an outdoor amphitheatre during the city’s Cultural Festival in 2003. To its credit, I learned that it houses a totally chic underwater restaurant and bar.

We enjoyed our evening meal at my beau’s favorite local restaurant, the Altsteirische Schmankerlstubn (don’t ask me to pronounce that), in their cozy, geranium-lined courtyard. The menu was full of Styrian specialties, of which I selected the very popular pan-fried trout. Even being forewarned, I still was somewhat alarmed to find a whole fish on my plate (haven’t we heard of filets?) Yes yes, I know it’s a big specialty, fried with polenta & herbs, but it was looking at me & I didn’t like it. I decapitated it, then set about with the time-consuming dissection. That proved to be loads of fun, and it tasted really great too.

I found myself full of Graz-induced euphoria right up until the 4 a.m. wakeup call the next morning. But I suppose that is the price you pay for enjoying 5-stars on someone else’s dime. It was worth every minute!

Graz Information

Grand Hotel Wiesler
Grieskai 4-8
Phone +43 316 7066-0
Fax +43 316 7066-76
www.hotelwiesler.com

Schlossberg Restaurant
(at the top of the funicular)
Schlossberg 7
Phone +43 316 83 0417

Altsteirische Schmankerlstubn
Sackstrasse 10
Phone +43 316 83 3211
www.schmankerlstube.at

Aiola Island
(underwater bar and restaurant)
Mur 1
Phone +43 316 82 2660
www.aiola.at

Alles Käse Nussbaumer
(cheese/wine shop)
Paradeisgasse 1
Phone +43 316 82 9162

Graz Tourism Information
www.graztourism.at

A view from the top of the Schlossberg

Checking the time on Graz's landmark clocktower

In search of high-altitude shopping

Enjoying the sights along Sackstrasse

A view from the Hauptplatz

Graz-style surfing, in the river Mur

Since I couldn’t manage any decent photos of the modern architecture, I borrowed a few:

The Kunsthaus Graz

Mur Island

Many a visitor has made his or her way through the streets of Paris clutching this wrinkled-up guide between croissant-sticky hands!

Bon chance, and enjoy!

DOWNLOAD Jennifer’s Insider Tips to Paris

Aloha !

Veni, vidi, velaxi ! (we came, we saw, we RELAXED!). With the laid back attitude of the islands, who can do much else? But, there are some rules on the islands. They require you to remove your watch, tie, & socks upon landing (although, lord help you men if you even THOUGHT to wear a tie). Replace with Hawaiian shirt & flip flops. Then, the required ritual is to toss your cellphone in the ocean. From there, things just feel better.
:)

We stayed on the southernmost, largest island (the “Big Island”) in the chain of islands comprising Hawaii. It boasts the world’s most active volcano, which has been erupting continuously since 1983. With that kind of seismic activity, you tend to keep your running shoes on at all times.

Our fabulous lodging was The Sheraton at Keauhou Bay (I’m sure “Keauhou” means “Paradise With Pineapple Daquiris Included” in Hawaiian). The hotel, recently remodeled & reopened, included a beautiful fantasy pool with palm trees and grottoes and rock channels and a WATER SLIDE. I, of course, thought “hmm, perhaps I should test the waterslide to determine its…er… ’safety’.. for children…”.. and so we tested its safety about 72 times, including its resilience to loud yelling & hollering on the way down. To ensure a comprehensive safety analysis, I asked the lifeguard at the top of the slide under what conditions could you get going SO FAST on this thing that you get TOTALLY AIRBORNE ?!?!?. I noticed about 20 other adults testing its safety over the course of the week (including the hollering test) & possibly not even one child.

Another particularly enjoyable experience was snorkeling in one of the bays with colorful tropical fish & even some sea turtles. We have decided that the sea turtle is our Official Mascot. It just floats along with the current in a state of extreme chillin;, not stressing about a thing, & lets everything bounce off its shell. Many lessons to be learned from the sea turtle. In between snorkeling gigs, we laid on the sand under the palm trees (of course after doing a quick visual coconut check to avoid possible concussions).

We also made a few driving expeditions while on the island. The first was a drive down to ‘South Point’, the southernmost tip of the island, which is also the southernmost point in the USA and certainly the edge of the universe (it felt like it). It is normally VERY windswept, hence old gigantic wind turbines with propellers ripped off, and many headless palm trees. The road down is pretty bumpy & narrow, and we had a Chrysler something-or-other rental car. At the time, I didn’t notice the big red letters on the rental car map that said “DON’T DRIVE ON SOUTHPOINT ROAD IN RENTAL CARS”. Whatever. When the lower side panel of our car accidentally, er, uh, ‘fell off’ during our expedition, we just threw it in the trunk & moved on. The point itself was beautiful, exotic, remote & felt like the edge of eternity. We did some hiking and photo shooting, and just watched the waves crash for what felt like hours. I fully expected some UFOs to come visit us there, but we must have missed them by a few minutes. Damn.

Our second expedition was an amazing night tour to THE VOLCANO… The Cauldron of Creation… now THAT was an experience. The energy there was so intense that I thought my head would blow off my shoulders. AWESOME. It was pitch dark by the time we got there (most folks were on the way out of the park). We had flashlights & water, & hiked over a dried lava flow that had covered the road back in 2003. You could see a flow of red lava hot spots down the side of the mountain, hear the waves crashing somewhere off in the distance, & see a million stars all at the same time. Totally mystical & peaceful. We sat there in the darkness & contemplated nature’s act of creation (but again, with running shoes on…). The moments there were very profound.

To summarize the trip: MONUMENTALLY RELAXING AND REINVIGORATING. By the end of the week, the need for conversation was almost gone. A raised right eyebrow meant ‘hey do you want to go up the waterslide again?!?’, while a twitch of the finger meant ‘it’s coconut-umbrella-drink time’. Soenke had given up shaving, & I was looking at my makeup bag wondering what all that weird stuff was for.

Nothing like a week in Paradise to put your head back on straight.

Mahalo!

Buying Swim Trunks

A small part of the fabulous hotel pool.

At the beautiful & peaceful 'Place of Refuge'

Keauhou Bay, next to our hotel

Results of my offroading efforts in the Chrysler rental car

Our replacement jeep (much more effective!)

Hanging out at the volcano

Feeling relaxed & very happy

Hawaiian danger sign

One day back in 2004, I woke up and decided that a few small vacations each year jammed between endless months of slogging to the office just wasn’t working for me. I didn’t want to wait another 30 or 40 years to begin living. I needed more fun, right now. And that meant a lot more traveling, with a bit less work. How could I continue to make money while visiting fabulous places at the same time?

My first move was to rent an apartment in Paris for four weeks to test drive my prototype ‘working vacation’. Being a self-employed tax consultant, I thought I could continue my work abroad with a few high-tech tools: an international cellphone, a laptop and an internet connection. My clients were surprisingly supportive and thought it was an interesting experiment (savoring the idea of having an ‘international CPA’), and from a practical perspective it did work quite well.

I took advantage of the time in Paris to brush up on my French at a language school, as well as to make a few new international friends. In a great cosmic intervention of monumental proportions, I met and fell for a fabulous, travel-loving, European guy who was also a commercial airline pilot. Shazaaaaaam !!!

I wasted no time once returning to the States in creating a virtual, paperless office using the wonders of 21st century technology (scanners, PDF files). My new beau and I soon moved in to a tony flat in his hometown of Hamburg, Germany. I picked up some European clients through various timely connections, and received some much-appreciated help navigating the German residence permit process.

My apartment back in the States is still intact; I plan to eventually rent it out as a corporate apartment or a vacation rental. My friends and family miss me, but they will live. This experience is too fantastic to pass up!

With my beau’s pilot discount, at a moment’s notice I can fly anywhere and everywhere his international airline flies, ranging from 20 to 130 euros each way. I often enjoy free, 4-star European hotel rooms when I regularly join him on his flight tours. More often than not, we also plan monthly European getaways for at least 4 days. I continue to meet my client obligations from both my office and from various European hotels, which usually provide an internet connection at nominal charge. My clients know that I am accessible, and we have many conference calls while I am doing important things like lounging on the beach in Mallorca or having a cocktail in Bologna.

And so my life as a “Professional Traveler” is all coming together. I have my feet on two continents, and a wonderful partner who is the ultimate “Professional Traveler” himself.

As the journey continues, I invite you to join me as I describe my adventures and perhaps contribute some wisdom and experiences of your own.

- Jennifer Crawford