Laurie's light travel travel tips

I'm a sucker for romance, especially when the press release includes some of my favorite destinations. By far, Rome remains the most memorable city I have ever visited, for several unromantic reasons -- the ruins, the lasagne, the language among them. I had not thought of romance because I went there alone, but that is a kind of romance, sì ? HotelwithTub (great name) crunched the numbers and shares its top 50 cities for the newly married. (In my view, these "honeymoon" destinations also double as great spots for singles, but then I'm biased.) Here are the key findings: 1. Rome is the Most Romantic Destination in 2026 With 1,613 swoonworthy restaurants and 1,328 romantic hotels, the Eternal City earns the highest Romantic Score (66) and stands as the world’s most romantic destination in 2026. 2. London Leads Global Date-Night Culture With 2,173 romantic restaurants and more than 12,800 romance-related hashtags, Blighty achieves a Romantic Score of 63, ranks #...

Twenty nineteen - Not so wacky . More like wack, as in not or no longer working or functioning properly or very bad. Of course, not all year, not all months. The year began beautifully albeit somberly. My mother had suddenly passed away in August of the previous year, and as much as I was looking forward to graduation at King's, I spent part(s) of every day doubled over in tears. I was tasked with finding a job but given that I was still in Britain through the end of January, it was a little tricky. I conducted two phone interviews, one for a reporting job in Dubai (felt uneasy moving there) and Minnesota (read the weather report, so ditto). But frankly, the issue was the stage of my grief. I went to see a psychiatrist at King's, a wonderfully erudite and sensitive man, and in that one visit learned a lot: "Your confusion will not go away quickly; it will be more like months." This helped immensely. January On 14 January many in our small cohort of Eighteenth-...

I've been in London a little over a year now, and have not taken for granted certain people who always greet me with a smile. Christine Allen is one such individual. She has been working at this newspaper stand at the Temple Tube, across from the Thames, for '20 or 30 years' she says, happily serving customers of all stripes, including busy businessmen and women, kids, tourists, and students from King's College London (who me?), located nearby. I caught up with Christine recently for the low-down. Do you own this? Bobby owns it. Where do you come from originally? (laughs) Bethnel Green. And where do you live now? Bethnel Green. Have you travelled outside the UK? Yeah. I've been all over America, I've been over to Korfu, I've been quite a few places. Really? Where have you been in America? We went to Santa Barbara, LA, California, uh, Utah ...we went on a big tour. Is it Yosemite Park? Oh I love Yosemite; good place. We stayed there in a log ...

Most days, I don't feel like a joke. I worked nine years to get here, to my M.A. course in eighteenth-century studies at King's College London . Yet, more often than not, I am reminded that I am an oddball, a blip, a one-off on the sphere of age-appropriate academics plying their talents in these corridors. Take, for example, this bar I'm sitting in. I am taking these nachos home, in no small part because there is no one my age here to socialize with. Ironically, we were told today in class that the eighteenth century was a remarkably social one. And yet, I have been forced to be less social than I was back in my home country. Try hanging out with people young enough to be your children and you look like Woody Allen in any of his movies after 1980. Today, although I look nothing like my convenor on the programme, the museum docent told my group that she'd found our teacher and pointed to me. I am 5'9 and have brown hair. My teacher is about 5'4 with grey hair...

Moving to London hasn't gone exactly as I had planned. After struggling to raise the funds to get here, I arrived with an indeterminate thyroid nodule (indeterminate for cancer), too little money, and a rude awakening when it came to finding a cat-friendly flat. Now, a few months later, I'm on the verge of finding a flat, still haven't determined the nature of the nodule (could not perform a biopsy after last ultrasound), and don't have enough cash. I had to hang on to my apartment in DC for three months due to terms of my lease, and it broke me. So happy to be out of my lease, I rented a small storage unit in Falls Church, Va. I had grave doubts about this: I already have a long-standing unit in Conn., my principal home for nearly two decades, and I didn't want to incur additional expense. I also doubted I'd be back to the DC area for any serious reason and it seemed like a hassle to pick up stuff from storage. Nevertheless, I had too much stuff the weekend I ...

Where DO I start? It's December 31, 2017, and I'm lying in my beautiful studio here in Falls Church, Virginia watching the sun rise. I'm about to get started or rather get finishing a 5,000-word essay for my World Novel module at King's College London. I know what you're thinking, don't waste your writing hands on this blog. But how can I not? For me, 2017 was the kind of year that comes once in a lifetime. For the girl who once thought she'd never leave San Francisco , whose friends were running off backpacking in Switzerland and whose brother took enchanting photos from the Seine, it's remarkable that I've become such an adventurous spirit. When I head back to London, it'll mark my fifth trip across the Atlantic this quarter. And while I keep telling people I won't be back to America for the whole of 2018, I doubt that's true. Here are the highlights from 2017: JANUARY: I rejoined a coloring group at the library in Alice, Texa...

I'm flying back to the U.S. Sunday because I have had a lease in the States that doesn't end til January. I had also flown out there in October during Reading Week, ostensibly to pick up my cat, but I think there was a deeper reason. I think I might have been having trouble Letting Go. When I got to King's College London, excited as I was, I was daunted. As I fumbled to find my way around the city -- somehow not as I remembered it from my last trip, in 2008 -- I dealt with harsh realities regarding the pound-versus-dollar (not as favourable as I'd thought!), lack of pet-friendly properties (bloody hell!), and exhausting trips to the doctor because I arrived with a thyroid condition (and dealt with frustration at having to start everything anew). Those first few weeks, too, were fraught with trying to catch up on reading, getting to know my classmates in my core class and related course on the Great Fire through Great Exhibition (it would have been too tricky in World ...

I want to tell these two little stories before I forget. About a month ago, when I was coming back to London from the U.S., I had a smart, sociable cabbie (Black Cab). He told me about how the cyclists were making it a living nightmare for drivers in the city, and sure enough, as we maneuvered our way from Waterloo to Ealing, more than a handful of cyclists were in our lane. They were trying to ride as fast as cars, but it forced the cars behind them, i.e. us, to slow down a bit to avoid killing them. "Really annoying," I said. "I'm all for environmentalism, but it's not sensible for people on bikes to think they are in cars." Somehow, the conversation turned to other topics, like film and television, and the driver told me he had picked up Carrie Fisher "when she was in town a few weeks ago." "Shortly before she died? Wow. I know she was here to film Graham Norton." "She told me three cabs had already passed her by when I picked...

I'm a proud graduate student at King's College London in the Eighteenth-Century Studies programme. I was first admitted clear back in 2009, deferred numerous times, reapplied, was readmitted, deferred again and again and now, am finally here. So of course I am thrilled, especially on days like last Wednesday. We joined one of our convenors, Emrys Jones, from King's at the Painted Hall at the Old Royal Naval College grounds in Greenwich. About a third of the class made it out there on a very cool day and it was worth each shivering moment out on the grounds, a World Heritage Site in western London. The soaring eighteenth-century buildings were originally constructed for the Royal Hospital for Seamen at Greenwich, which was designed by Christopher Wren, and built between 1696 and 1712. Wren also designed dozens of churches peppered throughout London, most notably the rebuilt St. Paul's Cathedral. The hospital closed in the mid 1800's and was shortly thereafter conve...

..... ----------------------------------------------------Here I am at BFI, which I believe stands for British Film Institute . I'm on my second coke and rum with lime and am too knackered to look up the "I". The lighting is dim and low here in the bar, just as one would expect between suspenseful seminars on film. I've enjoyed two so far. The first was "Trust No One: Conspiracy and Paranoia in the Age of Fake News" , which was moderated by BBC presenter Samira Ahmed who introduced two journalists who gave their analyses of why one shouldn't trust anyone they meet in film. No that's not right. Shouldn't trust some people in film or some journalists? (I know they laughed about how journalists used to be the sign of who to trust in films but no more!) The movies in the first seminar did not include anything I have seen, I am embarrassed to say, but now very much want to see ("Coma" and especially "The Parallax View (19...

The walk down there was gorgeous, the colors just a week past peak, and Virginia seemed to speak to me in gentler tones than it had before I left for London . I also could clearly see why Virginia Colony was the first English settlement in North America. The historic houses on Broad Street pay homage to some of the dandiest in Blighty, with an American twist - impressive Colonial designs, broad porches, exuberant maples and gorgeous firs. After I voted - the woman wished me good luck at grad school! - I journeyed over to Starbucks, put my legs up, and watched the day go by. I was musing that it had been the first time in I-don't-know-when that I didn't have some kind of agenda for an hour. The guy beside me had his legs up on the little ottoman and so I had copied him. Then my dad called, perfect timing. Fun to come back to Falls Church this week, forgetting that it would be the week to vote for a new governor. As a woman with two countries right now, I wasn't quite sure ...

I'm back in the U.S. for Reading Week, a new term to me but a welcome one. I love studying at King's College London, but also love coming "home". I still have a U.S. apartment til the end of the year (lease), and though it pains me financially, it's an emotional balm. Transitioning to a new country and way of life is harder than it seems when we're sitting around doodling pictures of Big Ben and dreaming of handsome Colin Firth-like men whisking us away in their chariots (with the steering wheel on the wrong side.) As I reflect on my three weeks in London , I'm struck more by the stories of the people I've met than anything else. My friend Kelly, who passed in 2008, once told me: "All cities are alike." She was right. New York, Chicago and London share Starbucks, traffic, a cosmopolitan sneer and swagger, and competitive financial climates. Walk into any busy Whole Foods and you'll forget exactly where you are unless you've picked u...

Here I am again at Terminal 5, and everyone around here thinks it's my home. It might as well be, as I am through here at least twice daily, rushing into the City of London . Today I forgot my student ID (so I could go into the Maughan Library at King's College and borrow a couple books I needed) so decided to think on my feet, or rather in my seat. "Excuse me, sir, but do you know London very well??" He, American accent, smiling: "It's been years since I was here." Me, smiling. "American?" He nodded. So I asked the chap next to me, "Where should I get off if I want to find a great bookstore that might have some classics?" "Piccadillly. W.H. Smith, across from the Meridian Hotel." I thanked him, and got off at Piccadilly (Circus), realizing I was about to disembark into an area that once held great romantic promise for me. A young man had scurried out of work and placed the backpack on my shoulders, wishing me adieu as I h...