Interactive urinals and other advertising

Just what is an "Interactive Urinal Communicator," you ask? One of a number of creative ways advertisers are using to engage our eyeballs. (Yes, there is such a thing.) Whether we're peeing, standing in an elevator or pumping gas, we're a captive audience for an apparently valuable part of any given day. And advertisers are increasingly trying to capitalize on that.

Nowhere are we more captive than at 30,000 feet. And advertiser agency Brand in the Hand knows it. They're hoping to earn our goodwill for their clients by hitting us with ads during that brief flash of excitement when the flight attendant hands us a free (for now) bag of peanuts.

But simply slapping ads everywhere isn't the trick. "The challenge for Brand In Hand and any company or marketer entering ambient media is to make sure their brand message is adding value to the consumer," says Andrew Hampp of Advertising Age in the CNN.com article.

I'm a voracious bathroom reader, so I'm looking forward to the day when USA Today sponsors the airplane lavatory and prints the news on each sheet of toilet paper. Talk about adding value....
 

Is the grass always greener?

Earlier this year, I waxed whimsical (as I often do) about my hometown of San Diego, describing it as "where I'd rather be." Now that's exactly where I will be in a couple of weeks. I've accepted a writing job with The Active Network, so Cassie and I are heading for greener pastures out west.

I left San Diego four years ago, as excited by the adventure of living somewhere new as I am about returning whence I came. It didn't take much time living on the East Coast to start second-guessing my decision to move, however, so I can't help but wonder what the future holds. Is the grass always greener on the other side of the country? Or only the grass you've never walked on?

Virginia and New York seemed bright and shiny and different, and they were all that and more. But always my heart turned back to the West Coast. Is it weakness on my part, to want what I don't have? A failure to be satisfied with the present? I don't know. It's possible that we San Diego natives are simply too spoiled to be happy living elsewhere. New York City is an amazing place, and it has been exciting living here; but—no disrespect toward those who love this city—I can't deal with the urban lifestyle. Once a beach bum, always a beach bum, I guess.

And I'm not returning home alone. I'm dragging my Hoosier wife with me, and she enjoys the four seasons as much as I enjoy year-round sunshine. So the coming months will be nothing, if not interesting.

Relocation chores will likely prevent new blog postings in the near future, but perhaps the muse will strike me during our cross-country travels.


 

Hope: A reason to travel

Why do we travel? It's a question I've asked myself more than once, and one I even posed to all of you in the early days of this blog (though to little response). For many, the obvious answer is escape: a vacation from a stressful job, a warm getaway during a cold winter, a break from the routine of everyday life. For others, there are countless reasons for travel: business, pleasure, family, study, exploration.

But what about hope? Can hope be a reason to travel? Hope that you might learn something new, hope that you might find the answer to an unspoken question, hope that your life might be better for having gone? The answer, of course, is yes: hope is as valid a reason as any to travel—especially in these times of uncertainty.

Hope has stirred me to travel more than once. Enough so, back in 2002, that I posed for the self-portrait pictured at right when I literally found Hope in New Mexico on December 31. (I took it as an omen of "hope for the new year," and 2003 did indeed turn out to be a better year.) Much further back, hope for personal growth motivated me to travel the world, courtesy of the United States Navy. Hope even figured into my travels to San Diego last weekend (though, lacking an ending, that story must be told another time).

As anyone who paid attention to last year's presidential campaign knows, the idea of "hope" can be a powerful motivator to people. Presumably most of us appreciate what we have, but most of us probably also hope for more: whether it's an altruistic hope for something like world peace, or a more self-centered hope for a better job or salary. So it should be no surprise that hope can serve as an equally powerful motivator when it comes to travel.
 

Where I'd rather be: Iceland

Earlier this week, I met a friend for drinks. He'd just come home from a work assignment to Iceland, so his trip took up a good part of the conversation. Before he spoke, I knew little about the country; by the time he finished describing his trip, it had become a must-visit.

I've heard the old saw about how the country was named "Iceland" by explorers wanting to scare off settlers by suggesting the place was nothing but ice (and steering them to icy "Greenland" with reverse logic). So I wasn't surprised to hear my friend's descriptions of the mild climate and beautiful landscape. But what did surprise me was hearing how free and easy it is to explore.

Though I haven't done enough research to check facts yet, he said that most of the country's land is not owned by individuals; even farmers lease the land they work. As a result, anyone can camp virtually anywhere without a permit. Living in a bureaucratic and regulation-heavy country where camping is concerned, I perked up when I heard this. To be able to just wander the countryside and pitch a tent wherever the fancy strikes me... that's a heady prospect, when one considers the natural beauty to be found there. Especially in light of my new backpacking hobby.

Granted, this is all just starry-eyed fantasy at this point, but the discussion was certainly enough to get me thinking seriously about trekking midway across the pond. And Iceland Air offers a $399 round-trip fare this winter. Yes, it sounds crazy to contemplate a winter trip to a place with the word "ice" in its name, but if my friend's account is to be believed, even winters are not as cold as the name suggests. We'll see....

(Read a photographer's account of his camping trip & photo safari; I'm including this link mostly for my own future reference, when I plan my own similar trip.)


See more Iceland photos

Photo credit: Paolo Ardiani
 

Europe's Christmas markets - $499 Danube cruise

For countless years, I've wanted to spend part of the holiday season touring the many Christmas markets in Europe. Some of the most popular ones are to be found in Germany, Austria and Switzerland, but it's a common tradition in many parts of the continent. There's something about the Old World setting for an Old World tradition that makes a magical season seem even more magical.

I can't even recall when I first heard about Europe's Christmas markets, nor when this whimsical idea first formed in my mind. I believe I saw a travel program that showcased the markets (probably Rick Steves), and that's all it took to set my imagination alight. Someday, I hope to make this fantasy of mine a reality.

If this idea appeals to you as well, and you're casting about for cheap holiday travel ideas, check out this special deal (which is what brought this to mind months before Christmas): five nights cruising the Danube, including 14 meals, with shore excursions to Christmas markets in Vienna, Passau and Regensburg, all for $499. Find all the details here.


[Disclosure: I am not affiliated with this travel operator in any way, and I have not vetted the offer, so do your own research. On the surface, it seems like a great deal.]
 

Expectations defied in Cuba

A friend recently traveled to Cuba, and told me the following story. I found it inspiring enough to share here.

The whole trip is too long to write about, but our first impression pretty much sums up the whole experience. Cuba is famous for all kinds of hustlers, scammers and petty thieves, and our travel budget was cut in half right at the airport when our fully pre-paid rental car was suddenly two times more expensive than previously agreed. Since American credit and ATM cards don't work in Cuba, our vacation looked pretty much doomed. So with a bitter taste already in our mouths, we started driving around the country.

We always pick up hitchhikers wherever we travel, but we didn't know if we should stick to this principle after the bad start. But we did our usual thing when the guy we stopped for directions asked if he could ride with us, since his sister lives on the way. The rough roads took us much longer than we ever expected, and it was already midnight when we arrived at the sister's house. It was obvious to everybody that we could never get to our destination before the morning, and this area was too rural for any hotels. So the guy asked us to stay with them. We refused and said we were okay and didn't want to bother them. In reality, we were so exhausted and tired that we couldn't have driven any longer. But we were too afraid to stay and thought they would chop our heads off and take the car and the little cash we had left (everybody in the countryside carries a machete on their belt).

After long negotiations with our terribly poor Spanish we finally decided to stay. We offered some money and they refused. Then he kicked his sister out of her bed and both of them went to sleep in the same bed with their old mother. And they were so poor that they had only one light bulb, so when you went to the bathroom (which had no running water), you had to take it out of the kitchen light. All this was too generous and good to be true, so we went to bed really nervous.

We woke up early in the morning and thought if we survived this far, we should try to leave ASAP without waking anybody. I left $5 on the pillow and we snuck out of the house. Half way to the car, we hear: Tommi y Anna! We thought that he finally got his machete, and maybe we should try to run to the car. But I decided to go back and find out what he wanted. He apologized that they didn't have anything to make us for breakfast (their fridge really was empty when we put our water bottle in there the previous night). Then he gave me a piece of paper with his email address on it (they are not allowed to access the web, but they can use email at post offices).

At that point, I started feeling really ashamed about my doubts. But that was nothing compared to later that day, when I decided to take a closer look at his email address: it was written on a folded piece of paper, and when I unfolded it, a $5 bill dropped from it to the floor. I don't think I have ever felt so ashamed of my prejudice, my cultural background and values. Not only is my home country's embargo partly to blame for why they are doing so badly, but my $5 would have been considered as trading with the enemy—which could bring me $250,000 in fines and two years in prison. But they didn't have any trouble giving the enemy a shelter that night.

The whole rest of the trip we stayed with the local families, every single night. Absolutely amazing people and country.
 

Fantasizing off the beaten path

When it comes to Caribbean vacations, places like St. Thomas, Jamaica and the Bahamas have little appeal for me (even though my last visit to the region was to Grand Bahama). I prefer to venture off the beaten path, away from the glitz and homogeneity of tourist areas, to get a more genuine feel for a place and its people.

That part of me that sometimes thinks about ditching the rat race and moving to the Caribbean (some days pure fantasy, other days not) also thinks about places not already overrun and well-known to guidebooks. A place that's not yet "discovered" offers more opportunity in terms of low real estate prices and little competition for starting a business (such as a B&B, a dive shop, a bar/restaurant, a tour operation, and so on).

Roatan, an island off the north coast of Honduras, would be paradise for Cassie and me, but it has moved far beyond the "discovery" phase. It's well known to scuba divers and cruise ships, and real estate prices have already shot up in the five years since my first visit.

Two places that have been on the list for consideration (or, mostly, for fantasizing) are Bocas del Toro in Panama, and Nicaragua's Corn Islands. Cassie became acquainted with the former by way of a friend, whose mother lives there. I learned about the latter through a friend who always takes vacations to places I've never heard of. Both locations seem ideal: gorgeous settings lying underneath the radar, yet poised for discovery.

Alas, we may already be too late. My most recent issue of Sport Diver magazine profiled Bocas in depth, and the New York Times just published an online photo gallery of the Corn Islands. The current state of the economy may slow the discovery of these places by the tourist masses, but I fear the secret is already out. Maybe it's time for my fantasizing to venture even further off the beaten path....

Where I'd rather be: Costa Brava

I have wanted to visit Spain since I was a teenager. In fact, the reason I ended up in Honduras as a foreign student during high school is because I had indicated Spain as my first choice. (I suppose their logic was "Spain? They speak Spanish in Honduras also, we'll send him there.")

Today, as my mouse led me astray across the web, I found myself on Spain's Costa Brava, a gorgeous stretch along the Mediterranean. Take a look at this photo gallery and, like me, you'll find yourself thinking you'd rather be there.

Bonus: If you are serious about visiting, download this 16-page guide.


 

A Skyward Glance

Like many people, I go through cycles in my life where at one extreme, I'm content and engaged in my daily life; and at the other extreme, I've had enough and can't stop fantasizing about an escape. I ebb and flow between the two, swayed by life events like the tide is influenced by the moon. Currently, I'm pegged pretty much at the edge of the "escape" side of the scale.

Daily life is quite taken with the logistics of my wedding a month from now, but that prospect is a welcome one; I'm excited to marry my sweetheart, and the event itself will satisfy my desire for escape (we're marrying in California, and honeymooning in St. Lucia). It's the daily work grind and my environment that have me stir crazy. Together, they both make me feel like a rat trapped in a corner, frantically and vainly scratching the walls to get away.

Lately, my view every day has been concrete, my gaze barely rising above the sidewalk on my way to and from work. Today, I happened to glance skyward, and the pinkish glow of dusk on the few clouds in the sky suddenly took me away. In a split-second, I found myself gazing up at past sunsets in other places, palpably feeling the relaxed contentment I have rarely felt outside of vacations.

And then, just as suddenly, reality crashed back in. I felt depressed contemplating that my life—many of our lives, the modern way of life—limits us to feeling this way only a few weeks per year (however much vacation time you get). We in the rat race work 48, 49, 50 weeks a year to earn those few weeks when we can live our lives at our own pace, on our own terms, looking up at the sky rather than studying the lines in the sidewalk.

At times like this, it's seductive to pine for the life of the playboy or the vagabond. One clutches a silver spoon, one carries his life in a rucksack—but both live the life we all crave, following our dreams and answering only to oneself. Sure, the grass is always greener, a lesson that life has taught me. But at the end, when we look back one final time at the summation of our life, will we wish we didn't spend so many of our finest hours under fluorescent lights, at someone else's whim? With each passing day, I grow more afraid of such a prospect.

Where I'd rather be: San Diego, "America's Finest City"

This is becoming a disturbing pattern. For the past several weekends, I've awoken to a wet and gloomy day. That provides plenty of inspiration to write about "Where I'd rather be," but I'd much prefer to be here on a warm and sunny day, than be somewhere else in my mind.

Nevertheless, I have to play the cards I was dealt, so once again we get to travel virtually together to some far-off spot. Actually, for some of you, this may be a virtual trip no further than your own backyard; because today, I'm going back to my hometown of San Diego, known as "America's Finest City."

I browsed the web for photos to post here, and came across the following aerial shot. It'll serve as an orientation shot for our travels, so take a look:



This shot effectively captures the heart of what I love most about San Diego: the beaches and water, and the countless hours of fun that they both offer. In this photo, you can see the long Mission and Pacific Beaches on the ocean side, the many little bays that make up Mission Bay Park just to the east (right), and the sloping hill of La Jolla toward the north (top of the photo).

On the beach side, a concrete "boardwalk" parallels the beach for about four miles. This path provides endless recreation for bicyclists, joggers, skaters and pedestrians. The personality of the boardwalk changes as you follow its entire stretch, so it's easy to find a part of the beach that suits what you're looking for: rowdiness, peace & quiet, athletics, and so on. And at regular intervals, you'll find restaurants, bars, taco shops, stores and more. At the far southern end of the strip (where the beach widens at the bottom of the aerial photo), an array of public beach volleyball courts planted in the sand offers a fun way to spend an afternoon.



On the other side of the narrow strip of beach cottages, you'll find Mission Bay Park. To me, this is the crown jewel of San Diego (not La Jolla, whose name literally means "the jewel"). This man-made aquatic park, covering more than 4,000 acres, contains many little hidden bays, each with its own personality and use. There's Sail Bay (pictured below), for use by sailboats; Ski Beach, where motorized watercraft can play (and where they hold the annual Thunderboat Regatta); Fiesta Island, an undeveloped area where the Over-the-Line Tournament is held; Tecolote Shores, a family-friendly area with picnic tables and grass lawns; and much, much more. One of my favorite activities is to spend the day riding the approximately 20-mile perimeter of Mission Bay, nearly all of which is bounded by a bike path (also visible in the picture below).



Just to the north of Pacific Beach and Mission Bay, the coastline changes from sandy beaches to rocky cliffs. While the topography is less appealing to sunbathers, it's perfect for scuba diving (since the same rocky shore continues below the surface, creating an excellent reef structure). The bluffs also offer picturesque scenery, which is probably why many of San Diego's millionaires live in expensive estates overlooking the ocean. La Jolla Cove (pictured below) is the most well-known spot, as it offers a small beach and easy, sheltered access to the ocean.


I may yet return to my beautiful hometown, but for now, writing about it made for a fun virtual escape back to a playground of sand and sun.
 

Why we travel

The New York Times Travel section features a photo essay called "Why We Travel." The piece profiles 13 travelers who answer the question in their own words, and the 13 answers are as diverse as the people offering them.

While I enjoyed the words and pictures, the photo essay made me ask myself the same question. Why do I travel? I had to think about it for a little while, because my enjoyment of traveling is such a subconscious, intuitive thing. But pressed for an answer, I'd have to say it's the moments. Those special moments when you find something unexpected, experience something unplanned, do something spontaneous. You may spend a fantastic week someplace faraway, but chances are you'll return home with one magical moment (or maybe several) emblazoned on your memory for the rest of your life.

I love the adventure that comes with traveling to new places, but it's really those moments that I'll remember and relive for the rest of my life that keep me traveling.

Why do you travel?


This looks like a run-of-the-mill snack bar in Curacao, but it represents the successful culmination of an epic search, guided only by the vaguest of directions from a local who recommended the place. The delicious lumpia that rewarded our perseverance made this one of those "moments" from that trip.
 

Where I'd rather be: Via Krupp on Capri

Again I find myself looking out at a gray and gloomy Sunday. Spring is limping along here in New York, having a hard time escaping the grip of a dying winter. So naturally my mind wanders again to dreams of warm and sunny climes far away in distance and time. I find myself thousands of miles and eight years from here, on the Italian island of Capri.

I came to Capri in 2001, an unplanned escape from a planned visit to Naples. Little did I know I was traveling to a place that remains to this day my favorite spot on the planet. Dramatic cliffs rise from turquoise waters, and hidden alleyways lead to tranquil piazzas. And limoncello... this is where I first tasted—and fell in love with—the drink that I have ever since called "sunshine in a bottle."

With clear skies and hot weather, the clear blue water called loudly to me. Near the villa where I was staying, a footpath called Via Krupp led down to the sea on the back side of the island by way of a series of switchbacks. I wasted no time, and set out to take a dip in the Mediterranean for the first time in my life.


On a tip from my hotel's proprietor, I hopped over the locked gate and made my way down. (The path only reopened last year, after being "officially" closed for 30 years due to falling rocks and other safety issues.) Besides being a fun way to get down to the water's edge, the path presented fantastic views all the way down that heightened the anticipation of jumping into the azure waters. At the bottom, I clambered over the rocks and staked out a spot for the afternoon, where I took this shot (but not before jumping in):


[Take a virtual walk down Via Krupp with this slide show.]
 

Where I'd rather be

Spring has still not sprung here in the Northeast, so as I stretch my virtual legs to do some virtual traveling, I naturally seek out warmer climes. Today, I find myself kayaking the warm waters of the Sea of Cortez, the arid landscape of Mexico's Baja peninsula providing a counterpoint to the 32-degree weather outside my door.

I hope, within the next year or two, to paddle those waters for real, and explore more of Baja California's 1,000-mile desert playground.
 

Check-ins of the future

I've had some interesting hotel check-in experiences. At the W Times Square in New York City, the lobby was not on the ground floor. Instead, I boarded an elevator just inside the ground-floor entrance, went to the seventh floor, and stepped out into a nightclub lounge. Tucked away off in a corner, I eventually found the front desk and checked in.

At the Omni Hotel in San Diego, I had barely stepped into the lobby when a waiting clerk greeted me and asked my name. Before I even reached the front desk, the clerk handed me a key and guided me to a nearby elevator. No lengthy credit card verification or reservation confirmation; just "welcome" and "here's your key."

While those check-in experiences impressed me, I would sure like to try checking in at an Andaz, Hyatt's answer to Starwood's hip W brand. At Andaz, you don't walk up to a check-in counter; you take a seat in a comfortable chair, and they come to you, checking you in via a handheld computer.

Of course, I look forward to the day when embedded chips in my luggage and wallet enable the following check-in scenario: I get out of the taxi and drop my bags at the entrance, where they'll be scanned and automatically routed to my room. As I walk through the entrance, a scanner reads the chip in my wallet and checks me in. I stroll to the elevator, where a scanner detects my chip, displays my room number on a screen, and takes me to my floor. When I reach my room, I wave my wallet against a card reader to open the door. Now that's a fancy check-in.
 

Where I'd rather be

In the interest of breathing some new life into this blog, I'm going to start a semi-regular feature, "Where I'd Rather Be." While I'm not suggesting that I'd rather be anywhere other than "right here," a little escapism can be exercise for the imagination. And, in the current economic climate, it might be the only kind of travel some of us can do right now.

What I'll do is virtually travel through the internet until I find an entrancing picture of someplace "I'd rather be," and then post the picture here for you to share. So, in a way, we'll get to virtually travel together.

Today, here's where I'd rather be:


Pool at Bishops' Court B&B, Cape Town, South Africa

This picture caught my imagination while I surfed the net over my morning coffee, the image of an infinity pool and lush landscape on a sunny day quickly pulling me away from an overcast and gray Brooklyn day.

See the rest of the photo gallery in the New York Times' Travel section.
 

Cemeteries: Millions of untold stories

I love cemeteries. Always have. Whenever I come upon them, I want to stop, stroll around, look at the names of those who have lived, loved and passed on. Especially here in the Northeast where, more often than not, the cemetery turns out to be old or even historic.

Last October, the Tour de Bronx bike ride took us through Woodlawn Cemetery. The list of eternal residents is a Who's Who of bygone New York society and culture: J.C. Penney, Joseph Pulitzer, Irving Berlin, Frank Woolworth and Celia Cruz, to name a few. Like mansions for the dead, giant mausoleums display in death the wealth that many of the interred must have enjoyed in life.

On my first trip from LaGuardia Airport into Brooklyn, I got my first look at Calvary Cemetery in Queens. There, the horizon of the cemetery blends into the Manhattan skyline, making the distant skyscrapers look like just more headstones and monuments.

Last winter, I rode solo down the Ocean Parkway bike path, a route through Brooklyn that ends at the Coney Island boardwalk (and which is the country's oldest bike path). Along the way, I stopped at Washington Cemetery, a Jewish graveyard full of poignant headstones etched with likenesses of the deceased.

Before moving out of Virginia, I spent a day in Harper's Ferry, a historic town at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers. On the hill overlooking the town, I found an old graveyard with markers old enough that the dates had long since been weathered away.

And just last week, while watching "House Hunters International" (one of our favorite shows), I found a cemetery I want to visit in the future: Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Perhaps best known for being the last resting place of Eva Peron, the place looks like a city within a city, with narrow alleyways that invite exploration.

Why do cemeteries fascinate me so? Most people probably find my interest morbid. But that's not it. When I walk past the headstones and gaze at the names and dates, I think about the stories that each one represents. A life lived, whether short or long; love, whether unrequited or consummated; dreams realized or unfulfilled; hardship endured or fruits of labor enjoyed; loved ones left behind.

Put simply, when I walk through a cemetery, I feel the millions of untold stories swirling all around me. I read the scant clues provided by the names, dates and brief epitaphs and let my imagination fill in the rest. For me, ironically, there is no place more full of life than a cemetery.


Recoleta Cemetery, Buenos Aires, Argentina
 

Go, Chargers! (to London)

I've been waiting for this day for months. Yes, that's right, it's football season again! Well, technically, it's "preseason," but that's good enough for me. I've been a fan of the San Diego Chargers for as long as I can remember, and tonight they kicked off the season with a game against the Dallas Cowboys (as of this writing, the Chargers are up 24-10 at halftime).

What does this have to do with travel, you ask? Very little. But as a blogger and die-hard Chargers fan, how could I not mention it? Let's see if I can make the stretch and connect the two.

In 2006, NFL owners approved a plan to play up to two regular-season games per year outside the U.S. This year, the Chargers play the New Orleans Saints in London's Wembley Stadium on Oct. 26.

Last November, I visited London for the first time, and enjoyed it tremendously. We drank in history metaphorically at Westminster Abbey, and literally drank "in history" at a 400-year-old pub. Best of all was the company of our hosts, Cassie's brother and sister-in-law. If time and my bank account could only allow it, I would love to visit them again in October and take us all to Wembley to show those soccer-crazy Brits a real football fan.
 

Take a virtual trip to Antarctica's dry valleys

Antarctica is high on my wish list of places I'd like to someday go, when money is less of an issue. To me, it seems the closest one can get to visiting another planet, though I confess that's somewhat subjective--one could argue Death Valley or any number of coral reefs I've dived on give an equally extraterrestrial impression.

But something about Antarctica beckons me. Perhaps it's the flavor of adventure any visitor must taste, even on the most luxurious cruises. Or the knowledge that you're in one of the most remote spots on the entire planet. Or, probably, the fact that it is just about as far metaphorically as I could get from my often mundane life.

So I was pleased when Gmail dealt me a wild card in the news link widget at the top of the mail interface: "Discovery Channel: Antarctica's Once-Living Valleys." Clicking the link, I was instantly whisked away to the bottom of the world (albeit virtually, and briefly). Someday, maybe, I'll set foot on that continent myself. Until then, I'll have to remain satisfied with words and pictures like these.

Note: If you're similarly captivated by Antarctica, I highly recommend Werner Herzog's new film, "Encounters at the End of the World."
 

The Painkiller: A Caribbean traveler's cocktail

My first taste of the cocktail called the "Painkiller" crossed my taste buds in 2006, during a visit to the Virgin Islands. That was the Beginning and the End. I've never gone ga-ga for sweet tropical drinks, the kind that have hunks of fresh fruit and an umbrella dangling from them. But when it came to Painkillers, it was love at first taste.

Maybe it's because the concoction, when made right, is not overly sweet or acidic. Besides rum, it's made with a mix of pineapple and orange juices and cream of coconut. But the fruity acidity of the juices and the creaminess of the cream of coconut offset each other, so it's neither too acidic or too creamy. And something about the mix disguises the rum, so you don't know just how much pain you're actually killing.

Painkillers are the signature drink of the Virgin Islands (both U.S. and British ones), and rumor has it the cocktail got its start at the Soggy Dollar Bar on Jost Van Dyke in the BVIs—so named because you have to swim to shore to get to the bar, thereby getting your dollars all soggy. Perhaps that's why I like them so much; the drink is so tied to the identity of these islands that I feel like I'm in the Caribbean every time I sip one.

If you want to take a "spiritual" trip to the Virgin Islands yourself, here's the Painkiller recipe (which, as you'll see below, I put to use last weekend in Maine).

PAINKILLER
4 parts pineapple juice
1 part orange juice
1 part cream of coconut
2, 3 or 4 parts golden rum, depending on desired strength (don't use light or dark rum)

Mix well, then serve over ice cubes. Don't forget the final step: grate fresh nutmeg on top!


 

Perfect for airline travel

Ziploc Easy Zipper: Where government bureaucracy meets mass consumerism. I should have bought stock in SC Johnson when the TSA debuted the 3-1-1 program. Now we all need a Ziploc bag whenever we fly.

I can think of a few more companies that should be promoting their products as "perfect for airline travel":

Capital One No Hassle Credit Cards: Perfect for paying all of those new fees!

Coleman Sleeping Bags: Perfect for those nights spent in the airport terminal after your flight gets canceled.

Balance Meal Replacement Bar: For those cross-country flights, when a bag of peanuts just won't keep you going.

What else can you think of that's "perfect for airline travel"?