Welcome to New Zealand

11/29/00: Waiheke Island, New Zealand

When we left Kuala Lumpur, the rain was pouring down, and the evening traffic was barely moving. It was also raining in Auckland, NZ, when we landed the next day (as if we bring our own clouds).

We meandered through the city to the port on a shuttle bus, and then boarded a ferry. Less than an hour later, we were on the island of Waiheke and in our home for the next two months. It’s summer here. The flowers and green are aglow all over. The first impressions left us glowing too. It’s good to be “home,” whatever that means. We’ll soon find out.

• Kuala Lumpur.

Desperate to dig deeper into the city’s mysteries, we scored a babysitter at the hotel and had a night out on the town in Kuala Lumpur’s most vibrant neighborhood, Bangsar, where the night market was in full swing.

• Here are a few glimpses of what we saw.

A Malaysian Market

11/26/00: Kuala Lumpur

Desperate to dig deeper into the city’s mysteries, we scored a babysitter at the hotel and had a night out on the town in Kuala Lumpur’s most vibrant neighborhood, Bangsar, where the night market was in full swing.

Here are a few glimpses of what we saw.

• Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.

To be honest, we came here because it’s a convenient stopover between Europe and New Zealand—a way to cut about 24 hours of flying in half.

Other allures drew too, though, including the amazing Malaysian cuisine, an attractive exchange rate, and the welcome warmth of the weather and people.

What a treat it’s been. Our mega-star hotel splurge has spoiled us. The food has bowled us over with fragrances, flavors, and finesse. And the culture is clean and safe with people rich in smiles, if not possessions. The evidence of the “Asian contagion” currency crisis of fall ’97 is in your face everywhere: Holes in the streets; half-built skyscrapers with two guys pounding away (because they pay no property taxes as long as construction is “continuing”; unbelievably low prices from shockingly hard-working vendors.

For better or worse, the discomfort of travel-lag and the comforts of our hotel have kept us from seeing all the sites. But we’ve heard the life story of an Arab man who just broke off his engagement and is “honeymooning” here without his new bride. We’ve perused the streets and bazaars. And we’ve determined that we’ll certainly be back—and see not only more of this colorful city, but of the verdant land that lies beyond it.

A Taste of Malaysia

11/25/00: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

To be honest, we came here because it’s a convenient stopover between Europe and New Zealand—a way to cut about 24 hours of flying in half.

Other allures drew too, though, including the amazing Malaysian cuisine, an attractive exchange rate, and the welcome warmth of the weather and people.

What a treat it’s been. Our mega-star hotel splurge has spoiled us. The food has bowled us over with fragrances, flavors, and finesse. And the culture is clean and safe with people rich in smiles, if not possessions. The evidence of the “Asian contagion” currency crisis of fall ’97 is in your face everywhere: Holes in the streets; half-built skyscrapers with two guys pounding away (because they pay no property taxes as long as construction is “continuing”; unbelievably low prices from shockingly hard-working vendors.

For better or worse, the discomfort of travel-lag and the comforts of our hotel have kept us from seeing all the sites. But we’ve heard the life story of an Arab man who just broke off his engagement and is “honeymooning” here without his new bride. We’ve perused the streets and bazaars. And we’ve determined that we’ll certainly be back—and see not only more of this colorful city, but of the verdant land that lies beyond it.

Leaving Italy

11/23/00: Tolfa, Italy

If you’ve learned to love Italy, you hate to leave Italy.

The place is unusually human—despite its spiritual obsession. And the country seems so enlightened—despite governmental disorder that makes America’s look minor. We awoke to blue skies the day we left, naturally. We slurped one last cappuccino, raced for Rome’s airport, and used our sunglasses for the first time in a month. It was also the first time we were able to take off nearly every layer we’d brought. A cruel joke? Yes, and no one laughed. But in our minds, we saw God winking as he touched our fingertips like he does in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel—as if to say, “Come back soon; but next time, not in November.”

• Tolfa, Italy.

If you’ve learned to love Italy, you hate to leave Italy.

The place is unusually human—despite its spiritual obsession. And the country seems so enlightened—despite governmental disorder that makes America’s look minor. We awoke to blue skies the day we left, naturally. We slurped one last cappuccino, raced for Rome’s airport, and used our sunglasses for the first time in a month. It was also the first time we were able to take off nearly every layer we’d brought. A cruel joke? Yes, and no one laughed. But in our minds, we saw God winking as he touched our fingertips like he does in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel—as if to say, “Come back soon; but next time, not in November.”

From Tuscan Storms to Tolfa’s Warmth

11/22/00: Tolfa, Italy

When we left Tuscany—where we could not finish this web site because the storms blew out our phone—at least five people near us were missing and presumed dead after their home had been washed into the Serchio River.

Sirens rang regularly. Highways were closed all over. And the locals were seriously upset. We received lots of impassioned advice about how to get to Rome to catch our plane. In the end, we drove (or should we say hydroplaned) along the tempestuous coast. It had been a bittersweet stay.

Our last night was in Tolfa, a village in the Lazio region an hour north of Rome. A rugged area where mountains meet coast, we loved the change of place. We stayed in a rich Roman’s summer villa, which a local family rents to tourists who come for weeklong activity holidays. (If you’re visiting Italy soon, check out what this industrious family has created on their website, www.fontanadelpapa.it.) Although the home could accommodate a dozen, we were the sole guests. So we dined for hours with the family (including their children) and enjoyed a royal sendoff.

• Tolfa, Italy.

When we left Tuscany—where we could not finish this web site because the storms blew out our phone—at least live people near us were missing and presumed dead after their home had been washed into the Serchio River.

Sirens rang regularly. Highways were closed all over. And the locals were seriously upset. We received lots of impassioned advice about how to get to Rome to catch our plane. In the end, we drove (or should we say hydroplaned) along the tempestuous coast. It had been a bittersweet stay.

Our last night was in Tolfa, a village in the Lazio region an hour north of Rome. A rugged area where mountains meet coast, we loved the change of place. We stayed in a rich Roman’s summer villa, which a local family rents to tourists who come for weeklong activity holidays. (If you’re visiting Italy soon, check out what this industrious family has created on their website, www.fontanadelpapa.it.) Although the home could accommodate a dozen, we were the sole guests. So we dined for hours with the family (including their children) and enjoyed a royal sendoff.

Scenes from Sommocolonia

11/21/00: Sommocolonia, Italy

Our Headquarters in Italy is the stunning mountain village of Sommocolonia, which was sunny this one Sunday.

There’s not much to do here—no bar, bakery, or shop of any kind. Meanwhile, the population has dropped from 97 to 65 in the ten years we’ve been visiting. Nonetheless, for a dose of “la dolce far niente,” Sommocolonia can be just about perfect.