We have so much to be thankful for. Every year, we go around the table and have to name something. This year, Abby initiated it and said she was thankful for her family. Such insight from a 5-year-old, who had just spent the morning gliding through Central Park on her scooter and marveling at the balloons in the Macy's Day parade.
I always love a good protest. The kind with banners and chanting and whistles. Preferably without police in riot gear, please. Although I have been present for a few of those during the dark days of Milosevic in Belgrade. 
It's always magical to find a little travel jewel. That cozy, out of the way restaurant that serves amazing food and is not well known by the typical tourist crowd. A shop which has amazing little trinkets. A boutique hotel where you simply want to return to the room to fall onto the bed and look up at the ceiling. I found one such place in Bangkok a few years back that rolled all of this into one -- an antique mecca and a few guestrooms.
It was an early morning flight out of Cairo (4:30 a.m.)...the layover in Frankfurt, an airport I truly detest...and the long 9 hour flight in Economy Plus with a sick passenger behind me who worried the flight attendants that he might have swine flu. Somewhere along the way, I picked up a bit of stomach bug so the flights seemed even longer than usual. 
Oh, the treasures. So many treasures to be found at the Khan i Khalili, But how to find them. "Good price, for you," the man says as he tries to pull me into his shop. I walk past trying to focus on the task at hand -- finding the beautifully colored, thick Egyptian glass.
Alas, there is a shop that draws me. So many lights dangling. Green and blue crystals hanging here. Silver and copper hanging there. A little further in and a whole ceiling is covered with copper and brass lamps of every shape and size.
Just a few doors down the dusty, crowded, narrow street and there it is. Blue glass. Turquoise glass. Red glass. White glass. Pitchers. Glasses. Bowls.
The shop owner, sweating from excursion in the hot shop, reaches for this one and that one, as we ask to see so many. Finally, decisions are made and pounds are exchanged. "Are you happy," the first shop owner, who has escorted me there, asks? "Yes, very happy." A night at the Khan i Khalili comes to an end.
And then there is the Dubai that some never see. Away from the bustle, the malls and the beaches created by man, there is the "historic" Dubai nestled along side of the Creek, where charming little art galleries (unfortunately, many are closed on Friday) and cafes are nestled in. Here is where you can find the textile souk, largely Indian shops with pillow cases, pashminas, shawls and scarves of every color and size. 
Mesopotamia. Baghdad. The Tigris River. The words floated on the green and blue map on my screen. We were flying at 41,000 feet en route to Dubai. Hard to believe that just 10 hours before I was saying goodbye at Dulles, giving goodnight kisses to Stefan and Abby who were nestled into their jammies. Then I was off, laptop and presentations in tow, trying not to think about my little ones but the work that awaited.
Now Dubai. A world of contradictions. Modern yet conservative. Liberal yet traditional. After a walk through the massive, crowded Dubai Mall on the start of the weekend here, I'm filled with images of Jimmy Choo, Burberry and Chanel. Yet what sticks most in my mind is the women covered in head to toe black.
We had lunch at a little joint. A bottle of white wine, of course. Or maybe it was two. Jo fired up the barbie for dinner. Guests. More guests. More wine. Friends of mine arrived late into the evening who were also in South Africa. We laughed. Told stories about our Croatia days. 
We drove up the mountain for brunch on Sunday. Gasps. Many more gasps for air. Now I'm gasping for air again as I look at what Jo has done. This time he has really outdone himself with the Explorer's Club, an exquisite property in the heart of Franschhoek which is a reflection of his travels around the world -- Burma, Thailand, Croatia, etc. 
Do you think it's possible to become a travel writer overnight? I often ask myself this question when I come across an article, which I should have written, about my dear Croatia. This one comes from the Times of London and is written about Opatija, that wonderful seaside getaway near Zagreb dotted with pastel-colored villas, which were once home to Austro-Hungarian royalty and such.
Loved the little cupcake shop we found down the street from our hotel.
Loved our hotel, Place des Armes, smack dab in the middle of vieux Montreal, and its wine and cheese happy hour and exposed brick walls and fireplace in our room. Loved the little bistro we found for lunch where it felt right to order a glass of wine and sit leisurely over a great cup of cappucino. 
A bientot.
