Over the last two-plus weeks, I have been taking care of my younger daughter here in Chicago, where she attends Loyola University, as she recovers from foot surgery. She cannot put any weight on the foot for at least another week, so she must use crutches and wear a cumbersome but protective “boot” whenever she wants to get about. Jenny has discovered such a means of locomotion is exhausting, difficult and at times precarious, so we have limited our travels beyond her apartment only to necessary visits to the doctor. It has been an eye-opening experience for me to see just how challenging, even in this era of mandated “handicapped-access” public facilities, traveling about a city can be for those with limited mobility.

For our first visit down to The Loop in the heart of downtown Chicago, we took the CTA Red Line. Fortunately, the el stop is just a long block away from Jenny’s place, and it has an elevator rising from street level to the platform. Of course, when you’re on crutches, “just” a block is still a long way to go, and the uneven surface of the platform next to the drop to the rails can be daunting. Once on the train, Jenny found a way to get her foot propped up on the seat next to her after maneuvering around the grab rails. When I glanced up to check our progress on the route map, I noticed for the first time that there were only three stations designated as handicap-accessible between our stop at the northern end of the Red Line and our departure point at least 15 stations south at Jackson Ave. This meant there were only three places where someone in a wheelchair could access this particular branch of the public transit system. At other stations one might find escalators (which Jenny found she could manage, but not without a little fear in both our hearts!). Otherwise, one must be able to negotiate long flights of steep, narrow stairs.

On that particular excursion we decided to take a taxi for our trip home, a wise decision due to the heat and Jenny’s rapidly waning strength — despite the $25 tab. Our second trip downtown a week later was slightly easier because we at least knew where the difficulties lay and how to pace ourselves. That time we took a bus back north. I do have to note that virtually everywhere we went people were very kind in holding doors open, making room on the nearest bench or seat and offering Jenny encouragement and wishes for a quick recovery. The bus driver lowered the boarding ramp so it was easier for Jen to climb on and off the vehicle, and cabbies were quick to pull over and assist us in getting her in and out of the car.

Our lengthiest and most challenging trip yet occurred yesterday, when we ventured out to LaGrange Park in the suburbs west of Chicago for a weekend visit with married daughter Sarah. Slightly cooler temperatures, lower humidity and a nice breeze made the first part of the journey easier than the previous two (and Jenny’s arm muscles have certainly gotten stronger!). We even managed a stop at a Garrett’s Popcorn Shop (I can’t visit Chicago without at least one visit there) between hopping off the el and grabbing a cab to Union Station. Once at the station, it was a long and harrowing slog down two escalators, up and down corridors and ramps to the track which would take us on a Metra train to LaGrange. We arrived at a crowded bench just opposite the entrance to the track with a good half hour to spare before departure. Here we confronted the first instance in three weeks of inconsiderate behavior: two obviously young and healthy women firmly kept their seats, even after two grandmotherly ladies next to them jumped up to offer their places to Jenny when it was clear the younger ones weren’t going to budge (and there were a few “gentlemen” who didn’t seem to be at all infirm that were much slower to move than the two gracious ladies, too).  Criminey!

We made it on and off the train without too much more difficulty and again with some courteous help from other travelers and Metra employees. These experiences have made me much more aware and sensitive to the difficulties and hardships a physically challenged traveler must endure. I am committed to being more conscious of such folks when I am out and about in the future and offering them a helping hand whenever and however I can.

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

After our brief sojourn outside of the EU to Dubrovnik, Croatia, our itinerary returned us to a string of Greek ports. First stop: Corfu, or Kerkira (the Greek name for both the island and the capital city). As is true with so many outposts among the Ionian Islands, Kerkira was dominated by Venetian rule for decades, and I would observe that influence in the architecture throughout town later in the day.

As we approached the pier, it was obvious that our luck with warm and sunny weather would continue. The four of us had booked a morning bus tour out to some of the surrounding countryside, our first formal shore excursion of the cruise. Overall, I think we made good choices about which excursions we would take. When a port offered good local transportation, was fairly self-contained and did not offer any outlying attractions that piqued our interest, we found our own way about. When we wanted a quick overview of a larger city, access to special exhibits or sites or outlying regions, we chose a shore excursion that provided those features. Today’s trip allowed us to travel outside the urban center and into a lush, green countryside and along a lovely scenic shoreline up into the mountains.

A few lessons learned quickly and early on:  1) If the route will involve lots of twists and turns, try to secure a seat towards the front, ask the driver to crank up the A.C., and take some Dramamine before heading out. 2) A good guide will provide interesting (but not constant!!) narration on both the past and the present, colored with his or her own experiences and observations. Perfect English is not required (although some of the crankier folks on our bus seemed to think so)–I appreciate some of the charming and unusual turns of phrase that crop up–but the ability to speak with volume is important. 3) One quickly tires of seeing the same kitschy souvenirs and “handcrafts” sold everywhere (imported from Asia, mostly), with only the name and perhaps a local view of the current place varying on the piece from place to place.  

Some of my favorite images from our drive: olive groves everywhere (Corfu brags of having some 4 million olive trees spread over the island), many with black netting rolled up around the trunks after the last harvest and all covered in creamy yellow blooms foretelling of the harvest to come; tiny, ancient villages with lanes so narrow that the side mirrors of our bus nicked the walls on either side; views of Angelokastro, a 13th-century fort on a steep bubble of land thrusting into the sea; elderly yayas and papous walking along the steep roadways, pausing to wave as we curious tourists smiled and waved back.

Later, back in town, I strolled about the Palea Poli (Old Town) and the Venetian Quarter, easily charmed by the narrow, vehicle-free cobbled lanes and wrought-iron balconies bright with tangled bougainvillea and lush pots of geraniums. Whenever I got too hot, I’d duck into a quiet church, where the thick walls blocked the hustle and noise of tourist crowds and enclosed a space instantly 15 degrees cooler than the outside air. (Major travel peeve: those who rudely ignore the signs and notices prohibiting flash photography and talk loudly as if they’re at a cocktail party instead of a place of worship.) Of course, indulging in a scoop of gelato when one grows warm and weary is also helpful! 

As I made my way back to the ship at the end of the day, I came away with a few genuine souvenirs of Corfu: some beautifully turned olivewood cooking utensils, and mental postcards of my travels across pretty Kerkira.

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader 

It’s hard for me to realize that a full week has gone by since I embarked on my Mediterranean vacation. I’m having difficulty keeping track of what day of the week it is, never mind the actual date. Part of that might be chalked up to the fact that I am in a time zone 10 hours ahead of the one I live in, but mostly it’s because the day isn’t terribly important. All I really need to know from day to day is what port we’re visiting and how I need to dress for dinner!

 I am pleased to report that all my connections between home and Venice, our embarkation port, were on time, smooth and easy. Because I have traveled abroad only three times in the last 10 years (and never solo), I admit I was a bit anxious about all of that. Would I have enough time at London’s Heathrow Airport to go from my arrival gate in Terminal 4, through passport control, claim my luggage and check in and go through security in Terminal 2 to catch my flight on bmi to Venice? (yes, with my Continental flight arriving on time, 3+ hours was more than sufficient.) Would I be alert enough after some 20 hours of flying and layovers to negotiate getting from Marco Polo Airport to Venice? (Yep, adrenaline and anticipation were very helpful!)

Thankfully — as all you global travelers know — English is spoken well by a good portion of the rest of the world, and it seems there are plenty of gracious, helpful folks ready to point one in the right direction upon request. I found the ATVO bus at three euros to be a quick, inexpensive means to get to our hotel, the Santa Chiara at Piazzale Roma. It was a charming place with a warm staff located right off the piazzale, a central transportation hub from which one can grab a bus, water taxi or vaporetto (water bus) to anywhere in the area. My sisters, who had arrived a day before me, directed me to the ticket office where I could buy a pass which would allow unlimited rides on the city buses or vaporetti over the course of 12 hours to several days. For 26 euros I got a 48-hour travelcard, a real bargain when one considers that a single, one-hour ride is 6.5 euros.

My impressions of Venice, tomorrow.

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader 

My “baby” turns 21 today, and so I am unashamedly using the public forum of this blog to wish her a very happy day. Especially since her big sister left for college when my little girl was 14, Jenny and I have enjoyed a close relationship, including watching Project Runway together, swapping books and CDs back and forth, and sharing travel adventures. In fact, it was Jenny’s prompting that led to our journey to Germany in 2005.

Jenny had heard about the Catholic church’s World Youth Day events and was thrilled to learn that our church’s youth group leader would be sending a group to the 20th such event in the summer after her junior year in high school. Launched by Pope John Paul II in 1986 as a means of bringing the world’s youth together every two or three years, these week-long events are held in major cities and pilgrimage sites and often attract more than a million participants at the final day’s Mass and celebration. Now, my younger daughter is generally a fairly quiet, studious, even-keeled sort of kid, so when she gets fired up about something, you know right away that it’s important to her and she will NOT let go of it.

Such was the case with the World Youth Day in Cologne (Koln), Germany. Not only did she want to go, but she wanted to be sure that I went along as one of the chaperones. This would involve more than a year of fundraising, culminating in a week spent being responsible for corraling a bunch of kids in a foreign country–how could I not look forward to that!!? (right!) I like to believe that I am not one of those parents who can be manipulated easily, but there are some forces that simply cannot be overcome, and this time Jenny seemed to have God on her side. So it was that we found ourselves en route to Dusseldorf, Germany, in late July.

We had gotten to know the other chaperones and kids in our group quite well during multiple car washes and bake sales in the months preceding our trip, so my fears of losing someone in a biergarten along the way were allayed before we even left the States. And while not all of our experiences would be highly spiritual, they were certainly enlightening. We attended daily Mass and organized ”classes,” but the biggest, most enduring lessons came from observing the exuberant, tolerant intermingling of this amazing collection of young people from the four corners of the world and the graciousness with which they were hosted by the citizens of Koln, Dusseldorf and their surrounding communities.

The public transportation system, tremendously efficient and organized, was taxed to the limit during our stay, but patience and good humor were always in evidence. Everyone took the opportunity while wedged like sardines into the trains and buses to get to know his or her fellow riders. Smiles and email addresses were traded with kids from Argentina, Italy, Australia, Kuwait and Nigeria. Pictures were taken and life stories exchanged in hour-long waits for a restroom or a meal. It made all of us present, hosts and guests alike, realize how much we have in common and how much can be achieved in gatherings such as this. I believe it confirmed for Jenny that she wanted to continue to get out and explore the world and do what she can to help the people in it who don’t have the advantages she was born to.

And so my child is in her third year of nursing school, and next year she hopes to spend part of a term in England studying community health programs. She also intends to travel before and after her studies (as well as on long weekends), exploring as much of Europe as possible. That week in Germany in 2005 taught my introverted homebody that there is much to embrace and love and learn in the world, and it gave her the confidence to seek it. This time I won’t be her chaperone, but I will be her champion, cheering her on from home.

I wish you many years and many happy journeys, sweetie! Happy birthday!

 Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader 

Believe it or not, I am a fan of public transportation. I don’t think I’d ever turn down a limo transfer over the subway, but, nonetheless, I utilize trains, buses and subways everyday. I’ve always said I need to live in a city, or at least close to a city, with a working system of public transportation. There’s a lot of room for interpretation in that statement, but, of course, I make all my comparisons with my opinion of NYC’s public transportation, and, more specifically, with my opinion of the ease of public transport in Manhattan. I reconfirmed my beliefs yesterday when Courtney Centeno, my NYC colleague, and I ventured to Queens for a meeting.

Yes, Queens is a part of New York City, but the accessibility of public transportation was not as available as in Manhattan - perhaps due to the fact that Queens is more spread out. We had no problems in the beginning of our journey. We started our morning from 59th Street in Manhattan and hopped on the N Express train to Astoria Boulevard. We arrived with plenty of time for a quick coffee at Neptune Diner. After a ten-minute taxi ride, we were at our meeting.

Getting back to the city, however, proved more of a challenge. We were told that a shuttle would come by the front of the building and drop us at the nearest train station. The shuttle was supposed to arrive every 30 minutes, but no shuttle ever arrived. To get to the next option - the bus - we would have to walk a bit and then cross a six lane highway. As time is money during business hours, I broke down and called a car service. We were back in the city in 28 minutes - an improvement over the hour plus it would have taken on public transportation.

Yes, the public transportation is part of the NYC system, which is the same public transportation system I compare all other systems in the world with, but, honestly, nothing beats Manhattan. Manhattan - where you are never more than 10 minutes away from your bus or subway. Manhattan - where you rarely have to wait. Manhattan - where a taxi is always nearby, if need be. As an added bonus, public transportation is more eco-friendly.

And, to end with a fun fact: Every year, a journalist rides every subway route and it takes a total of 24 hours - not a problem in Manhattan where the subway is open 24 hours a day!

-Alex Young, vice president and associate publisher