Although the Statue of Liberty is compelling symbolism (and easy to enjoy for free by riding the Staten Island Ferry) the more thrilling story of the American dream is best found in two other places in New York City: the Immigration Museum at Ellis Island and a little nondescript building at 97 Orchard Street on the busy Lower East Side….

The Tenement Museum.

On a recent trip to New York for Condé Nast Traveler, I took the subway down to the Delancey Street station and walked over a couple of blocks to Orchard.  The museum shop at 108 Orchard is across the street from the actual restored tenement, and that’s where visitors can get tickets and gather with their tour group (yes, there’s a bathroom - always a key bit of data for travelers!)

The museum is open by guided tour only; there are often school groups going through on weekdays, and weekends are of course crowded, so reserve tickets in advance online when possible.

There are several different tours (none cover the entire building) that each highlight the stories of real families, almost 7000 people total, who occupied the tenement from when it was built in 1863 to when it was condemned as a multi-family unit in the mid-1930s.

I joined the one called “Piecing it Together,” about the lives of garment workers who lived in the building, including the Rogarshevsky family — we saw the apartment that they lived in, restored to what it might have looked like in their 1918 era.  The guide did an excellent job of explaining how the garment-making industry came to dominate the Lower East Side and New York City in general, and how its production methods and workforce changed over the years, but he always smoothly brought the story back to the history of the people in this one building.

He also pointed out that while the residents of 97 Orchard Street made clothing for just a few cents each, the upscale jeans maker Earnest Sewn is located a half a block up at 90 Orchard and sells jeans for $200 each, many still made in New York.

I was also struck by the story of how the building came to be a museum. From the Web site:

“A historian and social activist, Ruth Abram wanted to build a museum that honored America’s immigrants. New York’s tenements were the perfect place for her museum: these humble, multiple family buildings were the first American homes for thousands of immigrants….97 Orchard’s initial appeal was an available storefront: [museum co-founder Anita] Jacobsen and Abram considered renting the space to run tours of the Lower East Side.

While inspecting the storefront, Jacobsen went to the hallway to look for a bathroom. She saw sheet-metal ceilings, turn-of-the-century toilets and an aging wood banister. “It was as though people had just picked up and left”, Jacobson recalled. “It was a little time capsule…I called Ruth and said ‘We have got to have this building.’ It was perfect.”

That was in 1988. Part of the tour today shows visitors photos of how the tenement looked before restoration, and discusses how the rooms had to have decades of wallpaper and linoleum peeled back to see what the rooms used to look like.  Rooms that would represent the late 1880s had to have any indoor plumbing removed, of course (the privvies, or toilets, that used to be in the tiny back yard are no longer there.)

The Museum keep ties to today’s immigrant stories by extensive outreach to schoolchildren (many the kids of today’s newly-arrived) and by teaching English as a Second Language classes that tie back to the history of the building and the people within.

I highly recommend a visit to this lively, engaged institution with its enthusiastic and knowledgeable tourguides and living history volunteers. It truly brings the story of the “huddled masses” alive.

If you’re in search of the Berkeley of Arkansas, with a little Key West and Branson thrown into the mix, look no further than the Ozarks and a little town called Eureka Springs.

It’s the kind of place that organizes bluegrass and blues festivals, gay-friendly “Diversity Weekends” and an annual UFO conference.

The Master Ching Hai Meditation Association Adopt-a-Highway sign is across the road from the popular Road Dawg biker shop; thousands drive past both on their way to attend the Great Passion Play outdoor drama under a 67 foot tall Christ of the Ozarks statue.

The main part of town can get a little too “My Old Mountain Home” cutesy for my taste, but a walk up historic Spring Street reveals beautiful, lovingly-preserved Victorian houses. They have survived numerous threats from fires over the years, and many were torn down during the Depression to use the value of their lumber to pay taxes, so townsfolk are appreciative of the ones that are left.

Throughout the historic loop, quiet little pocket parks surround each of the original 62 springs that brought people here to “take the cure” as early as 1879. Spa visits and water therapy are still quite popular for visitors today; I enjoyed a eucalyptus steam bath (complete with a photo of me in the contraption) at the Palace Hotel and Bath House.

The arts are at home in this mountain village; for example, writers of every genre enjoy retreats at the Writer’s Colony at Dairy Hollow. Cookbook authors spend weeks there testing recipes in the unique culinary suite’s full kitchen. Says Special Projects Consultant Sandy Wright with a laugh, “I’m not proud of this, but I had three pieces of blueberry pie because, well, the author was trying to get the consistency right.”

The nearby Art Colony’s eight studio buildings are arranged so that visitors can wander around and talk to working craftspeople as creations are being made. Naturally, the artisans have plenty of their wares available for sale.

For a different kind of stimulation, there’s always a standing bocce ball challenge on the Colony’s court.

For a good meal, try Local Flavor Café or the Mud Street Café. If you’re not in a hurry, there are fresh “Ark-Mex” vegetarian meals at The Oasis, tucked down a staircase off Spring Street; call (479) 253-0886.

Eureka Springs is located on the old Ozark Trail (now Highway 62) a road trip artery that ran from Niagara Falls, New York to El Paso, Texas. Consequently, many of the motels are Mom-and-Pop tourist court style. Distinctive cottage-style lodging is available at the Rock Cottage Gardens and the Tall Pines Inn.

To the west of town is the Pea Ridge National Military Park, site of one of the largest Civil War battles west of the Mississippi. To the east of town is plenty of outdoor adventure on the Buffalo National River or local arts and culture at the well-regarded Ozark Folk Center in Mountain View.

Pay a visit sometime, for a relaxing mountain vacation.

Las Vegas.
Jewel of the Desert.
You either love it or hate it.
But you will never be bored with it.

Friday 1pm: I planned on arriving in Las Vegas in style and with attitude. Instead, I found myself limping into town, deflated as a flat tyre. Which, four hours earlier, had been the case. Stranded in the dusty ghost town of Chloride, well off the main road, getting to Las Vegas seemed an impossible dream. But luckily, not all the locals were ghosts. Fireman Dale appeared from nowhere, removed the two inch nail, conjured up a can of tyre cement, and reinflated the both the tyre and my dreams of getting to Vegas.

Friday 2.30 pm: The view from my room at the Flamingo Hotel & Casino is picture perfect. I have both the Eiffel Tower and the Bellagio fountains in sight. Every afternoon and evening, the 1,000 feet long fountains burst into a flurry of activity half hourly. Choreographed to songs like ‘Hey Big Spender’ , ‘Con Te Partiro’ and ‘Singing in the Rain’, the show is spectacular. I could order room service, sit by the huge panel window and be entertained. Why even leave the room?

But leave I must. It’s almost 3pm which means feeding time downstairs at the Flamingo Wildlife Habitat. Built where Bugsy Siegel’s private suite once stood, the Wildlife habitat offers 15 acres of waterfalls, fountains, and birds from around the world. The Chilean flamingos are beautiful, but the African penguins steal the show.

Show over, I wander the gardens on the off chance that Bugsy might be around - rumour has it that the ghost of the ‘gangster with movie star looks’ haunts this area of the Flamingo Hotel. But he’s a no show. So I head back inside to the Tropical Breeze café for some old fashioned diner food - grilled cheese sandwich and fries.

Friday 6pm: Feed and watered, I head out of the hotel onto Las Vegas Boulevard (aka The Strip) in search of ‘The Deuce‘. This always crowded double-decker bus is a great way to get downtown to the Fremont Street Experience. Lady Luck is on my side and I grab the last empty seat on the upper deck. Traffic is bumper to bumper. But I’m in no rush. I sit back and enjoy the view.

Crowds are already gathering as we arrive for the nightly Light and Sound show. It starts with sudden darkness and loud music. I hang onto my handbag and look up. The overhead canopy comes alive with neon artwork.

Walking down Fremont Street, I wave to Vegas Vic, the towering neon cowpoke that has greeted visitors to Las Vegas for over half a century. He hasn’t aged a day. You couldn’t say the same about the casinos. Unlike their rich cousins uptown, they show signs of wear and tear. But true gamblers say the machines here are ‘looser’ and you have more chance of winning. Shame I don’t have time to check that out.

Saturday 9am: I put on my walking shoes. There’s shopping to be done. I head to the Grand Canal Shoppes at The Venetian. I want to be serenaded by handsome gondoliers in stripped shirts and ribboned hats while wandering through shops like Ann Taylor, Burberry, and Jimmy Choo. Shops I can’t afford even on sale day.

The prices leave me breathless. But fear not. I spy an oxygen bar in the distance. Aptly named Breathe, it provides pure oxygen hits filtered through scented water. Tempting as it was, I decide instead to grab a chai latte and a muffin from the nearby Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf café. Time to relax and watch the world go by.

Saturday 1pm: Tired of walking, I catch the monorail and somehow end up at the Las Vegas Convention Center surrounded by cowboys of all shapes and sizes. Apparently the National Rodeo Championships are on. I’d love to say that the Marlboro man was there, but alas no. Still, it was fun looking.

Saturday 4pm: Some major music awards are being hosted at MGM Grand this weekend. I find a prime people watching spot at the Wolfgang Puck Bar & Grill on the floor of the casino. By my second glass of Lindauer (yes, they sell New Zealand wine), everyone is famous. Wasn’t that Eminem? Or was it? Maybe I need a coffee.

Saturday 7pm: I trek from continent to continent on my way back to my hotel room. One minute I am in a Morrocan souk (Desert Passage Mall at the Aladdin) and the next strolling through the Rue de las Paix in Paris. Life really is strange in Las Vegas.

Sunday 8am: In great need of fresh air and a reality check, I book a half day tour with Pink Jeep Tours to Red Rock Canyon. Situated only 20 minutes away from Las Vegas Boulevard, the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area is a favourite with hikers, climbers, and cyclists. It’s easy to see why. Nature beats anything man could ever create. Wish I’d packed hiking boots.

Sunday 2pm: It’s time to find the car and drive away. But one more stop before I go. I need to take something truly Las Vegas home with me. The Rainbow Feather Company has just the thing - a feather boa just like the showgirls have.

(notes from my Nov/Dec 2005 Southwest Road Trip)

After the National Storytelling Festival, we headed over to Hilton Head Island in South Carolina, tagging along with our friend who’s been going there since he was a youth. Not being a beach lover, I can still say it was awfully nice — the beach, the incredible huge trees, the alligators, the Nature Preserve, and the lovely bike trails everywhere.

Hilton Head is a popular place — how popular, I couldn’t say, not wanting to quote PR material. But it’s got massive beaches, a whole ton of golf courses (including at least one world-class one), great scenery, congenial weather, etc. By rights, taking a vacation down there should be beyond relaxing. It should be restorative.

And yet. I’ve got a problem with the place. Not the island. It’s what’s been done with the island. Or to it. I’m talking about private resorts and gated communities. Driving to the island we passed ten — ten! — private gated residential golf communities. Do you have any idea what kind of space a gated golf community takes up? How about ten of them? And that’s before you get to the island itself. We stayed at a residential resort at the far tip, which you can hardly call a “tip,” since the 50-year-old gated community takes up 5000 acres. It’s got at least two insanely gorgeous beaches with firm sand and warm water. It’s got three golf courses. It’s got a 600-acre Nature Preserve and extensive biking trails absolutely everywhere. It’s ideal.

Ideal except that it crashes straight up against my deeply rooted egalitarian tendencies. I’m no communist, but “residents only” signs splattered all over beautiful places just pisses me off. It feels wrong, a response which, combating as it does the rights of private property owners, is practically un-American. I think the English have the right idea with traditional rights-of-way. Some firm sense in me says that it is absolutely wrong to deny access to natural beauty to anyone. Sure, you could argue that the beaches on Hilton Head are technically open to the public. But unless you pay an access fee (okay, it’s only five bucks, but it could easily be fifty) to enter the resort, you’d have to walk a darn long way along the coast to get to the beaches legally. That’s hardly open to the public.

And then there’s the feel of it. A gated community is a surreal enough thing, with its Brave New World ideas of what a safe, perfect life would entail. But pile miles upon miles of them together and you get the sur-surreal. I had to keep asking our friend, “Are there schools here? Where are the towns? Does anyone actually live here?” It wasn’t until the last day that we drove through a town with houses and trailers and shacks and broken-down cars and tricycles in the yard — a far cry from the over-landscaped, meticulously meticulous “community” we’d just come from. And even there, new private resorts were swallowing up land and hanging gates between overbearing pillars and guardhouses.

But heck, it was a nice place. I admire the way the resort founders kept all those old, massive trees around, and even the McMansions were painted in muted woodsy colors that kept you from realizing how ghastly they were. My son adored hanging out naked on the beach with the waves washing around him. And, despite the annoyance of being woken up every morning at 6 by landscapers and maintenance people doing god-knows-what incredibly noisy things to bushes and tennis courts, there’s a lot to be said for a place that has bike trails up the wazoo, even if they are “residents only.”

I’ve been a fan of L.L. Bean products for years (I wore out one of their River Driver’s Shirts.)

When we lived in New England, we took several road trips to Maine that included the obligatory stop at their flagship store in Freeport, Maine, established in 1912.

If you go to Maine, don’t miss the L.L. Bean outlet store there in Freeport, but remember that, like most outlets, the best buys are often out of season.  My wiggly kids always thought I was nuts when I had them try on coats at the outlet in July, but we had the last laugh when they donned their new finery in November.

Store founder Leon Leonwood Bean was an avid outdoorsman and the store’s products and general vibe reflect that, but many don’t know that you can also go kayaking, biking and camping with the L.L. Bean Outdoor Discovery Schools.

I knew about the School in Maine, of course, but learned recently that there is a branch in Maryland with plenty of island-hopping kayaking in the Chesapeake Bay and fly fishing near Columbia, Maryland and Front Royal, Virginia.

The offerings in both Maine and the mid-Atlantic seem to be mostly geared to the novice and mid-range adventure traveler, but for the semi-hard-core they also offer multi-day excursions and certification courses like Wilderness Advanced First Aid.

You can also experience short, half-day $15 “Walk-On Adventures” (kayaking, flycasting and “GPS Techno Treasure Hunts”) in many L.L. Bean stores across the US, including stores outside New England like Center Valley, Pennsylvania and Tyson’s Corner, Virginia.

Naturally, the company hopes that after a scenic day of kayaking with them, you’ll be inspired to, well, go buy an L.L. Bean kayak, but it’s certainly not required (although they do offer a 10% off coupon for select gear and apparel to those who register for a course.)