On a recent trip to New York City, my husband and I took the train from New Haven’s Union Station. On our way out of Grand Central Station, we passed a bakery, and the aroma of fresh-baked bread stopped me in my tracks. “On the way back,” my husband promised. “We’ll get bread to bring home.” He was right. We were headed to the Andaz Wall Street for the GT Tested Awards and a two-night stay. What was I going to do with a bag full of bread?

The hotel was fabulous, the event even more so. And, true to his word, on our return trip, my husband steered us straight to Grand Central Market, a long arcade of food stalls on the ground floor of the terminal, with access to the street at one end. Featuring everything from Greenwich Produce to Penzeys Spices, from Murray’s Cheese to Pescatore Seafood, it is a foodie’s paradise. But it was bread I was after, and bread I found at Zaro’s Bread Basket. There was such a large selection, I couldn’t make up my mind; and with our luggage getting in everyone’s way, I had to decide fast. We ended up with a bag full of ciabatta and other crusty creations to take home and a couple of focaccio loaves, loaded with delicious toppings, for the train.

It’s hard to get a good loaf of bread in our part of Connecticut. There are few bakeries to begin with, even fewer that bake their own bread, and fewer still that bake really good, crusty bread.

My passion for bread goes way back. In the 1980s, after a week in Paris with a friend, dining on fresh baguette morning, noon and night, I bemoaned the dismal lack of good bread at home. Enduring one too many complaints about “this doughy American stuff,” my husband had had enough: “Then learn to make your own!” And so I did, and I’ve been baking baguettes ever since.

Some of the finest souvenirs I have brought home from my travels are not the usual tchotchkes. Sure, I’ve carted my share of china cups and coffee mugs, original watercolors by local artists and Gustav Klimt prints from Vienna. I’ve stuffed my suitcase with fine woolens from Ireland and Iceland, and lugged back a huge pottery half-moon from the Caribbean. Each year my Christmas tree is adorned with ornaments from around the world — Delftware from Dutch St. Maarten, bright red wooden lobsters from Maine, Bermudian bobbies, Tyrolean jumping jacks. I even schlepped a cuckoo clock halfway through Europe on a backpacking trip when I was 20. And some items have inspired whole collections, as with our Wayang Golek (Java puppets), which we accumulated over many years of traveling through the Caribbean.

But fabric fades. China chips and cracks. It is the more intangible things that stay with me. Like learning to bake baguette, I seem to collect new abilities wherever I go, new traditions to incorporate into my life that remind me of where I’ve been.

In Germany, one taste of Schwarzwalder-Kirsch-Torte (Black Forest cake) and I had to possess its lush chocolate-and-cream secrets. I found a recipe and practiced making it — even impressing my father-in-law with a torte for his birthday one year.

Other locations have led to other additions to my culinary repertoire: Johnny cakes and plantains as they are served in the lolos of Grand Case, St. Martin; Irish scones, brown bread and potato soup; dim sum inspired by a trip to San Francisco’s Chinatown.

But musical fare can have the same effect as food. On a visit to Doolin, the traditional music capital of Ireland, I was so taken by the local music that I needed to possess it myself and bought two tin whistles — I have learned three songs in three years — and if I had room in my suitcase would have lugged home enough instruments for a whole band: bodhran drums, bones, spoons and maybe even uilleann pipes. On one trip to the Caribbean, I was convinced I could be a steel drum player; luckily, there were no drums for purchase on the island.

I suppose it’s my passion for a place, for its people, that inspires this sort of madness in me, this need to replicate what I have found and instill it into my daily life. Perhaps it is a way of keeping the memories alive. I am loath to leave some places and head home to my ordinary life.

What I have yet to figure out, though, is how to carry home more esoteric things, like an entire way of life. How, for instance, to institute the Spanish siesta into my afternoon? How to take a two-hour lunch and still get work done? How to stay as relaxed as I am on the beach in the Caribbean, as enthused as I am in a Parisian art museum, as connected to people as I am when encountering another culture?

Ah, but that’s exactly what vacations are for.

– Jan Hecht, associate editor

This past Thursday, while attending the GT Tested Awards event, I was lucky enough to meet Terrence Howard. Fran Gallagher had told me the day before the event that I would be handing Terrence the awards during the presentation, so it made sense for us to meet. And this is why, not even a half hour into the event, I found myself sitting in a private area, chatting with the chairperson of the Mentor Foundation and Terrence Howard. Had I not already had a few glasses of wine, I would have found the experience much more surreal than I did, but, in reality, talking to Terrence Howard was surprisingly easy.

I can’t recall how the subject came up, but we discussed music and the recording process for a long time. Before our conversation, I had only associated Terrence Howard with acting. While I enjoy movies, it is music that keeps my heart beating day in and day out. It’s amazing to me that as successful as he is as an actor, it seems his true passion is music.

Of course, I was not able to be smooth and play it cool the entire time I talked with Terrence Howard. At one point, when he was explaining how he took on the task of putting lyrics to music, I started babbling about the difference between homophones and homonyms. Oh well, once a grammar nerd, always a grammar nerd — even when chatting up celebrities.

– Kate Gallagher, advertising and editorial coordinator

When did it become November? I’m not ready for Halloween to be over or for the bitter cold to set in. Of course, time passes whether you’re prepared for it or not, and, it seems, the less prepared you are, the more quickly it flies. This past May, I was fortunate enough to journey to Thailand and China. The trip lasted 13 days, but it felt more like three.

It was my first time traveling alone, and my destination was Bangkok via a quick transfer in Beijing. Oh, how nervous I was boarding that flight! Luckily, Alex Young happened to be flying out of JFK the same day and we met up in Lufthansa’s business-class lounge. It helped to be waiting with someone I knew as I anxiously anticipated what it would be like in a few hours, when I wouldn’t recognize a soul.

I almost didn’t make it to Bangkok. My flight to Beijing was delayed due to stormy weather in Canada and I had to literally sprint from one terminal to the next, doing my best to keep up with the flight attendant in front of me. The attendant was in excellent shape, unlike myself. It was a relief, to say the least, when I made the flight. Five hours later, I touched down in Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi International Airport. If only my luggage made the trip with me.

The Four Seasons, by the new Siam Paragon Mall in downtown Bangkok, turned what could have been a disaster into a minor inconvenience. When I checked in (around 1 a.m.) and told them about my suitcase situation, they immediately set about calling the airport and grabbing things I would need — toothbrush, toothpaste, pajamas, anything and everything. Reassured that the future of my trip was in safe hands, I slept very soundly that night. Sure enough, the hotel was able to get my things to me by the next morning. I think telling the concierge that my malaria medication was in my bag helped speed the process along.

My first — and only — full day in Bangkok began at 9 a.m. with a tour of the Temples of the Grand Palace. As an ex-anthropology/archaeology major, I was in heaven. There, before my eyes, was the Emerald Buddha, a large model of the Angkor Wat and various vibrant tile designs detailing Bangkok’s history. Following the temples, my guide and I took a boat ride along the canal, past floating markets, houses that defied the laws of gravity and a Komodo dragon! After a quick stop to see Wat Arun, it was, sadly, time to head back to the hotel.

I awoke the next morning around 4:30 a.m. and grabbed my newly arrived luggage to head back to the airport. It was time for the next leg of my journey and the main reason I had come to Asia in the first place. I was headed to Chiang Rai, in the center of the Golden Triangle, and a temporary base camp for Pencils for Kids, Inc.

– Kate Gallagher, advertising and editorial coordinator

This weekend I went on a road trip that two friends and I had been planning since early summer. It was a long one — from Philadelphia to Northeastern University in Boston and then to SUNY New Paltz’s campus in upstate New York. Luckily, I love to drive. The trip should have taken 10 hours or so (should have being the key words here). Instead, I managed to turn it into a 14-hour marathon of illegal u-turns and hopeless confusion.

You see, I normally just plug my destination into my faithful Garmin and rely on her to not only calculate the route and tell me when to turn, but to do so again and again when I miss turn after turn. However, on this trip, I was guided by Google Maps and Mapquest. Between the two sets of directions, I thought I would be able to find my way easily (famous last words!). Alas, at numerous points, the exit numbers failed to appear, or they differed entirely from the ones provided. In a panic, I would call friends and read them the nearest cross streets and have them direct me back on course. This pattern repeated state through state until about 1:30 a.m. when they all fell asleep. Time for self reliance to kick in, right? Happily and surprisingly, it did.

Somewhere on Route 17K in the snowy Catskills of New York, I decided “to hell with technology!” Instead I did something no one my age has attempted … well, ever – I looked at a map. Yes, a real map. And, wonder of wonders, I found my way using it.

This experience led me to wonder if GPS technology and websites that map out routes have killed not only the sense of adventure that comes from road trips, but also our ability to navigate without their aid. Imagine driving to a new place without first printing out directions or without hearing the soothingly familiar “Turn left in 300 feet.” I agree, it’s scary; however, it is also fun. I felt so accomplished when I finally reached my destination because I had found my own way.

When I saw Spike Jonze’s Where the Wild Things Are later that day, I felt a bit like Max — like I had an adventure. Unfortunately, the closest thing I found to any Wild Things was some particularly grisly roadkill.

Moral of the story? Turn off your GPS every once in a while and look at a map. I promise you will feel like Magellan or Lewis and Clark – an explorer off to find new lands and new routes. And, if adventure isn’t your thing, do it for practical reasons. Namely, it makes you a more capable person. Using technology as an aid is not a bad thing, but relying on it to the point of forgetting how to do something for yourself doesn’t sound very smart to me.

– Kate Gallagher, advertising and editorial coordinator

About a year ago, the Los Angeles Dodgers swept my Chicago Cubs out of the playoffs. The Cubs went out with a whimper after finishing the regular season with the best record in the National League. In a blog right here, I pledged to be on the Phillies bandwagon in 2009 — and I kept that pledge.

Last week, I ventured out to Global Traveler’s World Headquarters for some work and fun. A bunch of us would be attending the Phillies vs. Florida Marlins game that night. Immediately upon my arrival, Kim Krol presented me with a cool Phillies shirt, which I will wear with pride. Later in the evening, I procured a Phillies cap from Fran’s car.

I had never tailgated at a baseball game before. Fran packed a cooler of beverages (including Coke for me), Swiss cheese, crackers and other munchies (okay, maybe he needs to work on this, but it was last minute); and we hung outside chatting and playing bags. Fran and I took the GT bags title, edging out Fran’s wife Michelle and Kim (actually, it was pretty much a solo effort as Fran also needs to work on his bags playing).

The game didn’t go too well as the Phillies lost to the Marlins, but it didn’t really matter. Unlike the Cubs, my Phillies had clinched a division title and were resting several of their regulars for the playoffs. The Phillies start their playoffs today against the wild card Colorado Rockies.

So, while sports radio talk in Chicago is filled with talk of next year, I will be watching my Phillies as they try to repeat their 2008 World Series run. I am also cheering for the Minnesota Twins, perhaps even a Phillies-Twins match-up.

In a few weeks, if the Phillies win the World Series, I will be watching the final outs wearing my Phillies shirt. I will celebrate vicariously from afar with some of the GT staff (sorry, Alex, the Mets were worse than the Cubs). At last, I would have backed a winner.

– John Wroblewski, distribution specialist