Las Vegas is not an obvious vacation choice for me.  Don’t gamble.  Don’t adore adult contemporary music.  Certainly don’t relish baking in the desert sun.  Yet, I had agreed to spend 4 days on the Vegas strip with my friends Marilee and Tim.  What was I thinking? As it turns out, there are things to do in Vegas besides feeding dollars into slot machines.  Not that I didn’t end up gambling.  How could I not?  Slot machines greeted me at the airport and in every hotel lobby.  It’s a wonder they weren’t in the bathrooms!    Besides parting with a few dollars at the casinos, I browsed in a lot of shopping malls.  You name it.  I could buy it on Las Vegas Boulevard.  Reproduction furniture from the Victorian era.  Crystal goblets.  Diamond bracelets.  Clothes for any occasion.  The only things that I didn’t find were book and cookware shops, which are, of course, my favorite kinds of stores.    On my third day in Vegas Tim, who now lives there, provided some respite from the rampant consumerism with …

In the days leading up to my flight to Las Vegas I thought incessantly of two songs — Elvis Presley’s “Viva Las Vegas” and Mojo Nixon’s “Elvis is Everywhere.”  For me Vegas was the land of Elvis or, more accurately, Elvis impersonators.  Imagine my disappointment when I didn’t see a single pompadoured, glittery jumpsuit-wearing, middle-aged man anywhere.  Where were the Elvis wannabes? Where was the campy Vegas that I had imagined?  Twelve years ago, on my first and only other trip there, I hadn’t seen any signs of him then, either.  Had Mr. Presley left the city?  And, if so, who or what had replaced him?   Temples of consumption.  That’s what has usurped the King. Immense, themed hotels filled not only with gaming tables but also with toney restaurants, high end stores, and extremely pricey shows. Anyone who has picked up a magazine or newspaper or turned on his TV in the past 10 years knows of Vegas’s amazing rebirth. And, yet, I still expected to see some hint of the old, cheesy fun. The Imperial Palace was the closest that I got to this. It was, however, more tacky than fun. I stayed there with my friend Marilee, …

  Having followed the Troubles in Northern Ireland since childhood, I had more than a few notions about both the country and capital.  Belfast would be grim.  It would be gritty. Bomb-scarred buildings would line the streets. Police would pound the pavement, poised to quell sectarian violence. Everywhere I turned, I would see evidence of not just decades but centuries of fighting. That’s the problem with preconceived ideas. So often they are wrong. Thanks to generous revitalization funding from the EU and Great Britain, Belfast resembled an active, modern city.  Sleek, pricey hotels like the Malmaison dotted the cityscape. Huge, glittering shopping complexes, such as the newly opened Victoria Square, drew in hordes of spendthrifts.  Briefcase-wielding business people, not gun-toting police officers, dominated the sidewalks. Cranes and construction equipment filled the skyline.   In spite of this hustle and bustle, Belfast was a quiet tourist destination.  During our time there most of the sites — the Ulster Museum, the St. George’s farmers’ market, which originated in the 17th century, and the Belfast Cathedral — were closed.  In the case of the 19th century St. Malachy’s Church, reputedly the best example of the Victorian architecture for …

Driving along the northern coast of Northern Ireland, Sean and I experienced the famous ever-changing weather of this country. Sun-warmth-clouds-rain-sun-wind-driving rain-sun-cold-wind, all within a half hour. While the weather may be unpredictable, the lush landscape and breathtaking sites are not. Rather than blather on about each and every site, I will mostly allow pictures, rather than words, to capture the beauty of the land. Sheep – They’re everywhere! The Giant’s Causeway — The 37,000 polygonal, balsatic rock columns of the Giant’s Causeway are reputedly Ireland’s top tourist destination as well as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.   Dunluce Castle – On a dark and stormy night part of the cliff fell into the sea, taking the 16th century kitchen and startled cooks with it. Bonamargy Friary – The ruins of this 16th century friary are now tucked into a corner of a golf course along the Coastal Causeway. The town of Cushendun – Once a popular resort area, this little charming village still offers visitors ruins of Carra Castle, the National Trust house Rockport, a small …

Upon hearing that Sean and I were headed to Belfast in Northern Ireland, the Dublin car rental agent responded with, ‘You’ll be wanting a bullet-proof car then.’ Jokes aside, I had expected the border crossing between the independent Republic and British-controlled North to be somewhat momentous. Interrogations. Friskings. Or, at the very least, a much-coveted passport stamp. Instead we breezed across the invisible border without any fanfare. The only indication that we had left the Republic came in the form of mileage. Instead kilometers, distance in the North is measured in miles. Deeper into the countryside the atmosphere shifted ever so slightly. Graffiti popped up, proclaiming ‘Sinn Fein is law,’ ‘Hang Bush,’ and ‘No more British control.’ Placards posted to telephone poles and tree trunks declared ‘Abortion is murder.’ Hmmm . . .. Saving Belfast for later in the trip, we headed north to the village of Bushmills along the North Channel in County Antrim. Home to the Old Bushmills Distillery and within a short drive to the UNESCO World Heritage site the Giant’s Causeway …

St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin is a lot like Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Minus the beads, bared breasts and beer consumed on the streets. And the warm weather. And exceptional live music. (The only traditional tunes that my husband Sean and I heard were from a middle-aged man playing a recorder in a hot, packed pub. And he played quite badly.) What wasn’t absent were the enormous crowds and tremendous police presence. After a series of violent fights on St. Patrick’s Day 2004 Dublin now imports about 800 police officers from around the country. On every block we saw 5 to 10 ‘gardai’ in their flourescent yellow jackets, waiting to spring into action. Most often they seemed to give directions to confused and/or drunk tourists. (Tuesday’s papers indicated that they arrested around a dozen car thieves-arsonists who set the stolen autos on fire.) Celebrants there were many. Since Ireland has banned smoking in bars and restaurants, smokers clustered around the front entrances and along the sidewalks. Inside the pubs were wall-to-wall revelers. At one …