Dear Friends,

Laab (also written ‘larb’) is a dish originating in Laos that has become a staple of menus across Thailand.  Its name means “luck” and this dish is a frequent star at the table during festivals and special occasions. It also makes the perfect gift for guests, conveying your good wishes along with some fresh sustenance all on one plate.

Some Laab Ingredients: Mint, cilantro, shallots

To me and my family, laab is a perennial favorite. Loving simple, speedy Southeast Asian cuisine, I became enamored of Thai dishes long ago.  My children, at very young ages, when asked their favorite foods, would cite “pizza, peanut butter and laab,” raising quizzical eyebrows on inquiring adults.  To this day, turning to the laab page in my Thai recipe book, the tell-tale scribbles of my two-year-old daughter (who is now 14) attest to this dish’s place in my family history.

So finding myself in Laos recently in the company of my colleague, Chris Roper, who shares my culinary interests, we decided to go on a pilgrimage to find the best laab. In Luang Prabang, we settled into the lovely Bamboo Garden restaurant, by the fountain, and ordered Laab Gai, the chicken version.  It arrived with a garnish of cucumber and cabbage, and young, delicate sprigs of cilantro and mint. The usual seasonings of fish sauce (usually squid) and lime juice were subtle, with scallions and cilantro dominating, textured by the barely perceptible crunch of roasted rice powder.  The spice was very tame, and Chris and I felt a little disappointed.  Very good, but this laab had not reached full potential.

A monk in Luang Prabang prepares a spicy green papaya salad

We moved on to a place recommended to us by our Lao guide, Mr. Kamh. He claimed it was the best laab in town.  Skeptically, we claimed a two-top at “Pizza Luang Prabang.”  A two-tiered terrace of exterior tables camouflaged an unattractive interior, where plastic-covered tables, a linoleum floor and kitschy decorations made me question our choice.  Two Italian men chattered away next to us, enjoying a smoke after their LP Pizza.  We ordered our laab—beef this time–and some Lao coffee.

When the waiter placed the dish on the table, we leaned in to inspect it.  Interesting: this time we saw unexpected ingredients.  Baby bean sprouts and thinly sliced lemon grass added texture and citrus to the overall freshness of this lucky Lao salad.  The rice powder was also more prevalent, adding a nutty undertone that was very pleasing. Again the lime and fish sauce were subtle, almost after-thoughts.   And there was another ingredient that was hard to identify, a barely discernible vegetable.  Again the spice level was low, and for us, spice addicts, a bit disappointing. Nonetheless, we agreed this laab won over the Bamboo Garden’s.

Our third laab tasting was compliments of Mr. Tie (pronounced “tee”), our chef on the Mekong Sun, a lovely little ship that travels from Luang Prabang to the Golden Triangle. Mr. Tie is a baby-faced 26-year-old who has been cooking since he was a teen.  He clearly loves his craft and puts his heart into every dish. He provided a full cooking demonstration for all the passengers, revealing a few aspects of preparation that were new to me.  For example, he added fish sauce as seasoning to the chicken before cooking it in the pan.  He not only added fried shallots but also fresh ones. He taught us how to roast our own rice: with lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves—in a dry pan.  Then the browned rice is transferred to a mortar and pounded into a powder (I buy small packets of rice powder at home, saving at least 30 minutes!). Then he revealed the secret ingredient I could not identify in Luang Prabang: raw yard-long beans, sliced into tiny rounds.  This addition adds a whole new, greener dimension to laab.

Mr. Tie's ingredients are laid out for laab gai preparation

Mr. Tie’s laab was very similar to Luang Prabang Pizza’s—excellent in its freshness and crunch.  Again, I would add more lime juice and chili powder, but this is a personal preference.

My time is Laos is a gift I am not soon to forget, and laab is one lucky way I can continue to keep a little piece of Laos in my life and in my heart.  For all those who dream of going to Laos, I present you with a recipe that I hope will bring you the good fortune of one day seeing this magnificent country.

Larb Nua (Beef Larb)

1 lb beef, minced or ground

2 cloves of garlic, chopped

1-3 red chili(s), chopped (spice level according to taste, of course)

1 tbsp chopped shallots

2 tbsp Thai basil, chopped (can replace with coriander, if you prefer)

2 tbsp mint, chopped

1 tbsp roasted rice powder

1 tbsp spring onion, chopped

1-2 tbsp of Nuoc Mam or fish sauce, to taste

Juice of 2-3 limes (taste and see if you like it with more citrus!)

2 hothouse cucumbers, sliced lengthwise and seeded, cut into 6 inch “boats” OR iceberg lettuce leaves

Hot peppers dry in a village along the Upper Mekong

Variations Seen in Laos:

-         Add fresh bean sprouts

-         Add chopped yard-long green beans

-         Add chopped lemon grass

Fry the beef in a wok or large frying pan, without oil, until browned and cooked through. Leave to cool.

Lightly brown the garlic, chili and shallot in a pan over medium heat, again without oil. Pound them together then mix this paste with the meat.  Stir in the fish sauce, lime juice, rice powder. Toss in the Thai basil, mint and scallions and stir. Serve at room temperature.

Prepare the cucumber “boats” and/or separate the iceberg lettuce leaves and place in dish for serving.  Laab is then spooned into the cucumber boats (my children’s favorite!) or wrapped in the lettuce leaves.

Sóen Sâep!

Wishing you Luck and Happiness with a fresh plate of laab gai!

Boy plays and swims around boat docked on Mekong beach

The splashing of water lures me out to my stern balcony. They must be diving under the ship to fix the faulty propeller, I think. As I lean over the edge of the railing, I discover I am wrong: four Lao children are swimming gleefully around the boat on a competitive circuit, the weakest swimmer ending up dangerously swept downriver by the strong Mekong current before grasping the stern of a longtail boat docked nearby.  He struggles hard to keep up and eventually disappears with the others upstream again.

The Mekong Sun, our ship

The clean, sandy beach where we have docked for repairs presents cameos of life along this mighty Indochinese river.  A woman in a straw hat busily plants her vegetable seedlings, while keeping an eye on her nearby toddler, who happily digs her own holes.  Another woman waters her sandy field, and scolds children who come too near as they practice their somersaults, cartwheels and handstands. Three children emerge from the water and run to join the gymnastic group, one of the littlest pausing to remove her chafing, sandy underwear and continue on unimpeded.

From the beach, one of the crew beckons me to join them. He and a group of passengers seem to be heading inland. Clearly, the
repairs are going to take a while.  Within minutes, I emerge on the wide, sandy expanse, impressed by how the muddy Mekong, during the drier season, can sport beaches to compete with the seaside resorts of the world. Our small group climbs the dunes into the jungle to discover wooden pens containing healthy piglets, sows and ducks.  A few more steps upward, and the stilted
thatched traditional Lao homes emerge, neatly arranged along a main artery parallel to the Mekong.  Hearing giggles
behind me, I turn just in time to see two naked boys of seven or eight years rushing past, wet clothes in hand.  They grin at me unabashed, then stop at a clothesline up ahead and neatly lay out their shorts and shirts to dry, disappearing into their home.

Children in Khokphu Village, Laos

Every adult and child we encounter smiles broadly and the traditional greeting echoes throughout the village “Sabaidee!”  Hens and chicks scuttle under a home, two pot-bellied pigs squeal their way under a fence and trot past us, ducks of all kinds paddle around a small central pond, and random dogs and kittens sun themselves on ledges and in doorways.  Mothers wearing the intricately woven sarong skirts lean in doorways with babies on their hips, and occasionally call out to older children, perhaps admonishing them to behave. Giddy children follow our progress, as we tour their empty new school (it’s Friday afternoon), complete with five classrooms, desks and blackboards.  The villagers saved for years to buy the construction materials to build this school, and now they are able to educate not only their little ones but also several other nearby villages’. Neatly piled bricks, wood, and bags of cement under eaves suggest that another construction project may be under way soon.

Heading to the top of the village, at the highest point, we come upon a temple, home to a handful of monks.  A boy of eight or so in a saffron robe is busy sweeping the large fallen teak leaves and debris from around the temple grounds.  An old monk
and his young apprentices sit idly under a thatched pavilion, talking and relaxing.  Saffron robes catch the saturated rays of sun on a clothesline behind the temple. Marigolds, Helliconia, and Crown of Thorn flowers abound, adding even more color and a sense of paradise to this elevated, peaceful scene above the Mekong.

A young monk tends to the grounds of his temple, Khokphu village, Laos

As we come back down through the village on our way back to our boat, an old woman with high cheek bones and twinkling eyes strolls past elegantly, clothed in a woven Lao skirt and simple shirt, with a towel regally wrapped around her head.  “Sabaidee!” she repeats again and again, smiling at each of us toothlessly.  Something about her makes me wonder if she dressed up just for us.

View from Mekong Sun deck

Returning to the Mekong Sun, our floating home, I return to the orchid-ringed sun deck and take in the soft light of the waning sun on the river.  The breeze is fresh and I marvel at how this major waterway and South East Asian lifeline can be so clean and smell so sweet in the Pacific Century.  It can’t last for long, I fear.  The Chinese and Thai have many dams planned in the next decade, and the industry that is so absent now will arrive, no doubt marring the beauty of this land and spoiling the purity of these waters. I only hope that the happiness and serenity of Khokphu village and many others along the river’s edge will survive the inevitable development ahead.

The Mekong at Dawn

I confess, I love the stories behind a revolution. They are exciting, bold, romantic, epic. They also entail struggle, pain, blood and death.  Unlike wars between nations, revolutions attempt to throw out an old system and replace it with something fresh, more just, more virtuous. Idealism runs rampant until reality sets in and human nature, with all its foibles, takes over and finds itself once again with a system that is flawed, and often as unjust and cruel as the previous one.  Yet through this process, a national fiber is stretched, yanked, distorted, and pounded, until the country re-emerges into a new dawn, and rediscovers who it has been all along.

Dawn over Havana

There is something very distinctive about visiting a country that has lived through a revolution, and even more so when the citizens still remember the event firsthand.  The experience of strife and distress tests the human mettle, and makes those who survive stronger and more keenly focused on life’s priorities and their fundamental cultural values. The end result is a distillation of culture that conveys the soul of the place with more potency–a full embrace of authentic cultural identity.

I found this to be true in Cuba, from which I returned a few days ago.   The island nation exudes a warmth and passion that have clearly been a part of the national fiber since the beginning, but perhaps have become much more powerful over years of hardship.  Here is a people who speak of love freely, who call each other (whether lover, friend or colleague) ‘mi amor,’ who begin to move their bodies the minute they detect a musical beat, and who kiss you on your second encounter.  Feelings are not beneath the surface as they are in many cultures.

In Cuba, expressing emotion is the only way to be, to exist, even when conducting business. They pour their heart into all they do and say. There is a sincerity of purpose and pride that struck me as refreshingly pure. Whether it was the sociologist in charge of the Clinic for the Prevention of HIV/AIDS or Papa Tin who founded the Colmenita project to help children with disabilities become happy, well-adjusted teens, I marveled at the amount of heart every Cuban I met put into to their work.

Children sing and dance at the Colmenita Project

Suffering is no stranger to Cuba–traumatizing events, from the Revolution in 1959 to the Soviet Union’s pull out in 1990, have put this island nation through hell.  Yet that national fiber appears stronger than ever and an indomitable spirit endures—one that loves, dances and sings with renewed gusto.

I remember my father telling of his frustration and powerlessness during a meeting of top American officers in Saigon in the 1960s.  They discussed strategies that made no sense, they exhibited a complete ignorance of Vietnam and the Vietnamese people, they discounted advice from their fellow officers who had seen combat in this foreign land.

My father, Howard Simpson, wrote this book on Dien Bien Phu, "the battle American forgot"

My father was in no position to disabuse this group of their tactics. He was just an advisor to the political warfare section of the South Vietnamese army, whose experience in Vietnam dated back to 1952 and included time at Dien Bien Phu, the battle where the French lost their colonial hold on the country. Furthermore, these officers were Ivy League and West Point graduates, while my father had studied at an art academy in Paris on the GI Bill after landing on Utah Beach on June 6, 1944.  He had no place in this circle.

Today I find this story underlines the importance to me of education abroad for all U.S. college students.  In the past decade, study abroad professionals on campuses across the country have been making headway, changing set attitudes among faculty and administrations, and encouraging students to consider a stint in a foreign country.  Despite concerted efforts, however, the number of U.S. college students who study abroad remains very low and represents less than 1% of the total number of American undergraduates. When a student does choose a term abroad, it is usually for a summer term only, eight weeks, while semester-long programs are less favored.

Students learn calligraphy on a CET China program.

At Yale, there is the ultimate commitment to education abroad in the Richard U. Light Fellowship that allows students to study intensive language in China, Japan or Korea multiple times over the course of their undergraduate years. The scholarship covers all expenses. According to the Director of the Light Fellowship Program, Kelly McLaughlin, “Since its inception, the fellowship has awarded $13 million dollars to 900 Yale students (including undergraduate, graduate and professional) for fully funded language study.”

Other universities, like Lewis & Clark, Kalamazoo, St. Olaf, report that over 80% of their undergraduates study abroad.  Schools that proudly number among the top in the number of students studying abroad include University of Minnesota (75% of their undergrad population), Middlebury (63%), and American University (60%). (Source: Open Doors; IIEnetwork.org<http://IIEnetwork.org>; 2009 Data Tables)

There is increasing support for the notion of making a study abroad term part of an American undergraduate education.  Currently, there is a bill pending called the Senator Paul Simon Study Abroad Foundation Act.  NAFSA, the primary association for education abroad professionals, describes the bill’s goals as follows:

• Increasing participation in quality study abroad programs.
• Encouraging diversity in student participation in study abroad.
• Diversifying locations of study abroad, particularly in developing countries.
• Making study abroad a cornerstone of today’s higher education.

In short, the bill aims to develop a more globally informed American citizenry.  For now, its progress has been slow, though the Senate Appropriations Committee did set aside initial funding of $2 million in August this year to start a program following the same model as the Simon Bill. With so many other urgent legislative items, I fear this priority will continue to languish.

Inspired by the spirit of the Simon Bill, several of my colleagues at CET Academic Programs and Academic Travel Abroad and myself established a 501c3 non-profit organization this year called the Fund for Education Abroad (www.fundforeducationabroad.org). Our mission is to eliminate financial barriers to study abroad through scholarships for deserving students, particularly those in under-represented groups like minorities, non-liberal arts majors and community college students.

We are holding our first benefit here in Washington DC on Tuesday, November 9, at George Washington University.

In this intimately connected world, can we really afford to delay in making a term abroad part of every college-educated American’s experience?  How different would the world be if our leaders had each spent time studying abroad, learning a foreign language, adapting to different mores, overcoming barriers of understanding, dispelling American stereotypes, and generally appreciating differences and finding commonality in the human experience?

Imagine if, way back in 1965, those military officers had studied abroad in Asia, learned the language,  developed a finer understanding of Asian history, culture and guerilla warfare and analyzed the intelligence with deeper insight.  It’s hard to speculate on how history may have changed course, but one can only hope that the conversations would have been better informed and the results less disastrous.

Over the years, I have developed a theory: a good traveler makes the very best of friends.  In other words, if you can travel the world comfortably, adjusting good-humoredly to the unexpected, respecting other cultures, tasting new cuisines and dishes, appreciating your hosts, and remaining gracious through discomfort, then you are not only a great traveler, you have proven yourself a fine human being.  You embody all that world religions encourage us to be:  kind, generous, selfless, appreciative of life, and treating others as you would want to be treated.

Traveling involves tasting it all!

I was sharing this theory with a friend recently, and she admitted that she has a similar theory: that good hosts make great friends.  She expanded by saying that there are those who love to host, and those who love to be guests.  Of course, you can enjoy being both. However, a great host is one who puts their guest first, who is ever-aware of others’ needs and graciously fulfills them without interrupting the flow of everyone’s enjoyment.  A great host makes every guest feel special and well-attended to, takes into account any special needs (diets or favorite drinks), and makes sure no one ever feels excluded, weaving them into the conversation with a well-placed question.

A great friend, being helped across a stream, Ait Ben Haddou, Morocco

It wasn’t until after our exchange of theories that I realized that a traveler is essentially a guest, and that my friend and I were simply focusing on two sides of the same equation. This balance of host and guest, traveler and host country, represent the give and take that is essential in all human relations.  We give and we receive, and it is the way in which we do both that demonstrates our care for others—and the quality of our humanity.

In Nubia, with Gracious Host

Dear Friends,

The tale of the Egyptian Prince Tutmosis III and his encounter with the Sphinx of Giza fascinates me.  On a hunting trip in the Valley of the Gazelles some time before his reign, Tutmosis III decided to take a nap to escape the midday sun. He chose the shade below the head (the only visible section) of the Great Sphinx of Giza.  While he slept, the Sphinx spoke to him and told him that, if he dug the Sphinx out of the sand that covered it, he would be assured the throne of Egypt.  So Tutmosis III set to work and excavated the Sphinx, the very first restoration of this site, undertaken circa 1400 BCE. The story of this dream is recounted on the stelae at the Sphinx’s feet.

What captivates me about this tale is the fact that, even in 1400 BCE, the Sphinx and the Pyramids of Giza were already ancient, having existed since 2650 BCE, and that the protective layers of desert sand had already buried all but the Sphinx’s head over the preceding 1200 years.

Egypt’s ancient wonders abound, but it is not until you stand within inches of the deeply carved cartouches of Ramses II in Karnak or the stunning turquoise of painted vulture wings on Hatshepsut’s Temple, or the intricate delicacy of King Tutankhamen’s jewelry, that the impossibility overwhelms you.  How can such beauty have survived 2000, 3000, 4000 years? 

Vivid colors of a Vulture's Plumage on Hatshepsut's Temple

Entering the imposing structure of Ramses III Temple, there is a series of chapels to the left.  Little color remains, and the carvings seem simplified, unremarkable.  It turns out, these chapels date to Alexander the Great’s time—circa 332 BCE. Modern, by Egyptian standards!  Yet paling in comparison to the elaborate scenes of battle and power depicted on Ramses III’s own temple walls.

Deep in the Temple of Luxor (circa 1400 BCE), past the small area that once served as a chapel for Roman soldiers during the 3^rd century CE, there is a shrine built by Alexander the Great, depicting the Greek king as a pharaoh.  Here, you can stand between the outer wall built by Amenhotep III and the inner wall of the Greek shrine.  Within a couple of feet of each other, the contrast is sharp: over a 1000 years pass from the time the Egyptian outer wall was carved to the time the Greeks erect their shrine. Yet, Alexander the Great’s craftsmen lose this contest: their work appears amateurish at best.

It’s not often that Alexander the Great comes across as lacking accomplishment.  Yet ancient Egypt puts many more modern cultures to shame.  Even the Romans, who seemed to lack the respect and interest Alexander showed Egyptian culture, appear boorish and uncultured in comparison.  The Roman chapel within the Temple of Luxor is made of scavenged temple stones, betrayed by the upside down body parts and images carved on their surfaces.

Image of Ramses III on his Temple

Reflecting on all the perfection that bears tribute to Egypt’s royal ancestors, I can’t help but wonder what we have lost over time in sophistication, technique, and ambition. And I rejoice in the protective benefits of the sands of Egypt—without them, what treasures would have been lost to humankind!

For information on our educational journeys to Egypt, please visit http://www.smithsonianjourneys.org/tours/egyptianodyssey2010/.

When an earthquake occurred in China during students’ spring break, and an Icelandic  volcano spewed ash across European skies, and Greeks threw projectiles on Syntagma Square in Athens, several friends and professional associates asked me the same question: “Why are you in this crazy business?!”

Well, it all harks back to why we list “Never a dull moment” as one of our corporate values.  Those of us who have committed our careers to the world of travel and international education love the ever-changing world in which we live and thrive on its unpredictability, its surprises, its challenges and its mystery.  None of us could survive in clock-watching jobs, where routine is the norm and changes cause great discomfort and anxiety.  Quite the opposite:  we love the dynamism of change, the rewards of evolution, the promise of a different tomorrow—a world in which learning truly never ends.

After 22 years in the educational travel sphere, I sometimes think “I have seen it all.” I couldn’t be more wrong, because no sooner has that thought occurred than I am presented with yet another “first.”  Whether it’s having a group return from Turkey on 9/11 and have to land in Nova Scotia to be accommodated on a Canadian military base, or facilitating the return of stranded travelers during a volcano eruption, or accommodating a request for a wedding ceremony to be performed on our chartered yacht in the Aegean Sea—I am confident now that I will never have seen it all.  And for this, I am eternally grateful.

The fields of educational travel and international education (representing both sides of the Academic Travel Abroad business: tours and study abroad programs) usually attract individuals who are intellectually curious, enjoy challenges, have a sense of exploration and discovery and a deep appreciation for life in all forms.  This rich community is well represented within ATA.

During our Spring Dance Party at my house last Friday, this positive energy and love of life was very apparent!   Our community is diverse (representing not only various states around the country, but also Japan, China, Syria, Iraq, Israel, Italy, France and Panama!), the conversations were animated, and the dancing was energetic and fun.  This is a group that works very hard, yet understands the importance of work-life balance and knows how to relax.

So in the midst of world upheavals, I thank my lucky stars that I work amidst such talented, intelligent and spirited individuals.   Thank you all and may we continue to learn new lessons every day.

 Kate Simpson

Dear Friends,

One of the greatest human urges is to communicate. At an early stage, our toddlers demonstrate the frustration they feel when their meaning or intents are not understood for lack of language skills—sippy cups are thrown to the floor; food is flung from the high chair.  The message is clear: we want to be understood!

So no wonder language, as every human being’s most expedient expression, conveys personalities, cultures, nuances and fundamental values the world over.

As many of you know, Academic Travel Abroad, Inc. is not only an educational travel company; it is also a study abroad organization.  We currently send approximately 1,000 US college students overseas every year to study in China, the Czech Republic, Italy, Spain and Vietnam (and as of this summer, Japan and Syria!) on our CET Academic Programs (www.cetacademicprograms.com).

 CET’s education abroad philosophy is rooted in the value of cultural and language immersion.  It is clear speaking to anyone who has ever lived or studied abroad that immersion—a real break with one’s own cultural environment, contacts and language—brings understanding and broadens horizons. 

So while beginning the learning process early and undertaking a serious commitment to foreign language study is ideal in order to transcend cultural barriers, I firmly believe that the process is valuable at any age and at any level of engagement. 

Embarking on a trip to a foreign land, few dispute the value of picking up a phrase book before departure.  This is a practical step. Yet how many view a look at the language of the destination as an essential part of their introduction to that culture?  As important as the study of the country’s history, society, art, and politics is, a basic introduction to the language can teach us so much.

For example, few written languages paint pictures and convey cultural lessons as plainly as Chinese.  Some characters are logical, with the stone radical associating with hard, strong, fundamental concepts, the heart radical expressing feelings, and the hand radical describing actions and gestures.  Yet other characters betray social preconceptions: peace is a woman under a roof; home is a pig under a roof, precious is jade under a roof… And a woman with a son is just plain good.  It doesn’t take long to realize the rich cultural lessons hidden in every pictogram.

Then there’s French. How many nations boast an Académie Française dating to the 17^th century in which “immortals” rule on all matters pertaining to the glory of the language?  Here is a culture that drills its young with daily “dictées” of complex paragraphs to test the subject-verb accords, feminin-masculin mastery and subjunctive conjugations, in addition to requiring excruciating “explication de textes”—pulling apart and analyzing a text, word by word, line by line.  So whether you master the classic lines like plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose (‘the more things change, the more they stay the same”) or the common exclamation ça va pas, non?! (“You are not well, are you?!”), some dabbling in French is not only fun but can reveal much about this rich culture.

On a recent business trip to Japan, I had the good fortune to be accompanied by two fluent Japanese speakers.  On the plane ride over, I asked that they review the basics of polite Japanese phrases for me: from dozo and arigato gozaimashita, to an often-used phrase—dozo yorushuku onegai shimasu.  The latter was translated for me as “please forgive me for any trouble I will ever cause you.” It’s a mouthful, and it’s spoken very rapidly by native speakers, but it is used constantly. To me, it revealed much about the culture I was about to visit. The extreme politesse and consideration the Japanese extend to each other are ubiquitous.

I still remember the delight one of my China travelers expressed when a phrase I had taught her had the desired effect—a smile and a grateful nod from a proud Chinese mother.  “Hen ke ai!”  this American traveler had said, admiring a toddler with rosy cheeks in Shanghai.  “Very cute!”

So next time you’re heading abroad, I encourage you to look at the language as more than a practical portal, but as a window onto greater cultural understanding and meaningful interaction.  As few as three syllables can make the difference between being a passive observer and being an active participant in your discovery of the world.

A Brass Door Knob, Forbidden City, Beijing

Dear Friends,

It’s been a while since my last post.  The fall was busy and marked by a trip to China in October that will go down in my mind as one of the greatest group travel experiences ever. This National Geographic journey started in Beijing and wove its way south through Xi’an, Chongqing, the Yangzi River, the Three Gorges Dam, ending in pulsating Shanghai.  In reflecting on the success of this experience, I concluded that my 23 travelers encountered group travel at its very best and here’s why:

1. Their Openness:  Marcel Proust is known to have said “The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” Throughout our time in China, each and every traveler demonstrated a willingness to see through the eyes of others or even to expand their way of thinking in ways that were unfamiliar to them.

2. Their Sense of Community:  From the very first day in Beijing, our group showed respect and care for each other, exchanging personal thoughts and experiences, maintaining punctuality, watching out for each other in crowds, resetting a bike chain during a circumnavigation of the City Wall in Xi’an, lending a sweater when the weather turned cold in Shanghai, and empathizing when someone’s personal belongings went missing in Yichang.  During breakfasts and free meals, I observed different travelers joining each other at different times, developing new friendships and learning from one another.  Couples welcomed single travelers within their midst, and no group was exclusive.

VIP Access to the Terra Cotta Army

3. Their Cultural Sensitivity:   No aspect of Chinese culture went unappreciated on this trip.  Each traveler expressed awe, curiosity, and genuine respect for all our itinerary presented.  From the serenity of the Confucian Temple in Beijing and the Great Mosque in Xi’an to the animated hacky sack players at the Temple of Heaven and the charming, erudite Mr. Wang ( former Chief Engineer of the Three Gorges Dam Project), our group members captured 100% of each significant moment and encounter.

4. Their Joie de Vivre:  I marveled at the personal stories behind each traveler and how they came to choose a trip to China. Many had overcome sadness and challenges in the year or so before the trip, and despite these (or perhaps because of these), they launched themselves into China with a verve and appreciation for life that was heartening.  Their perspective helped them enjoy themselves to the fullest.

A kindergartener waves her pom at us in Fengdu

5. The Authenticity of the Experience:  A group of individuals this genuine deserves the most authentic and truest of experiences.  I am proud to say National Geographic Expeditions delivered on this promise.  We were the only foreigners to visit Panjiayuan (a Beijing flea market), the only foreigners to eat in many of the local restaurants selected, to gain VIP access to the Terra-Cotta Army Museum, to hear an exclusive briefing by the dedicated Director of Foreign Relations at the Great Mosque in Xi’an, to enter the restricted visitor center led by a senior engineer at the Three Gorges Dam Project, and to play jump rope with kindergartners  and sing songs with retirees in Fengdu.  And all these authentic experiences were augmented by the superb lectures and refined expertise of our Expert, Ken Hammond.

Without a doubt, my fellow travelers on this trip enriched a well-planned, educational itinerary by applying the very best principles of group travel.  With their important contributions, I would venture to say we achieved perfection, a rare and beautiful thing in the world of travel.  I am forever indebted to them.

Kate Simpson

My daughter Sasha on the bench

Dear Friends,

Having spent the first half of my life changing homes every two years, there was only one constant place in my world: Folly House, Kinsale, County Cork, Ireland. This was the house my parents bought in 1972 to allow their four daughters to escape the oppression of Algerian summers. This was the house in which we spent innocent summers surrounded by pastures, overlooking the Bandon River, sunbathing on the dry barn’s roof and listening to Billy Joel and The Eagles under the surprisingly hot Irish sun (when it appeared). This was also the house of my parents’ retirement after my father’s career in the US Information Service. Here we spent many a warm, cozy Christmas before peat fires in the cast iron fireplace, played board games on the great oak refectory table, and heard the mysterious sounds of the beloved Folly House ghost late into the night.

A Kinsale Institution: Max's

In 1998, we all said goodbye to Kinsale, Folly House was sold, and my parents settled in suburban Maryland to be within reach of their daughters’ care and comfort as life wore down their ageing bodies. Eleven years later, after both my parents had left this world, the four daugthers felt it time to return to Kinsale. Our mission: to commemorate our parents’ lives in the place they loved so much and to dedicate a park bench in their honor.

I had mixed feelings setting out for Kinsale–a place so familiar and yet so distant. I knew one can never go back, never relive the joys of the past. So I set out with measured expectations, keeping in check my hope that it would be, in fact, magical.

As my sisters and I gathered, with several children and one brave spouse, we marveled at the comfort of our fisherman’s cottages overlooking the harbor. We toasted our return as the yachts sailed in past the 17th-century forts guarding the town, we smiled at the delighted giggles of our children playing on the small zip line in the gardens below and we reveled in the familiarity of it all.

Our bench dedication took place in a blustery storm (“ah, sure, it will clear by this evening” had reassured several of our Irish friends when we tried to rethink our plan), where my sister Lisa and I stood with umbrellas, perched on the bench itself, attempting to deliver a commemorative address. The wind caught hold of us at one point and threatened to transport us, Mary-Poppins-like, across the Bandon River. The ceremony ended early and we all headed to the shelter of our cars and the reception at my parents’ good friends, the Doyles.

An evening of poetry readings and addresses followed, with memories being shared liberally of my parents’ joie de vivre, their unmatched hospitality, their devotion to friends and family, and their unfailing respect and love for each other.

The following days, we settled into Kinsale like longtime residents. We met for coffee with Irish friends, we went sailing on the harbor, we ran into people we knew in bakeries and pubs, we took the children into town for “99s” (soft serve creamy ice cream pierced by a Cadbury’s Flake), and we went for a stroll along the Salmon Walk to Summercove.

Yacht in front of Charles Fort

One day, sitting perched on a rock above James Fort overlooking both inner and outer harbors, my daughter Sasha remarked “this is so beautiful, Mommy.” I took in the dark blue sea, the sculpted apple-green grass dappled with wild flowers on the hills above us, the rustic grey stones of the fort, and the saturated Irish light and had to agree–yes, this is very beautiful.

In this moment, when my own child stated the obvious, I realized I had never fully appreciated the place of my childhood. I had taken it for granted and made Kinsale a backdrop, rather than a centerpiece.

I had fully expected to close the Kinsale chapter in my life through this one commemorative trip. Yet, I found that, through connecting with old friends, seeing the place through the untainted eyes of my own daughter, I had, in fact, opened a new chapter. Kinsale will always be a part of my fabric, and I now know that I can and want to weave new tales into this tapestry.

Our friend, Mareta Doyle, is chairman of the annual Kinsale Arts Week.  International and local artists of all kinds come to Kinsale to share their talent and enliven the town. This sounds like the perfect enticement to return to Kinsale in summers to come.

As my sisters and I prepared our departure, it became clear that we had come to the same conclusion: we will return–not to commemorate the past, but to make new memories and carry on a family tradition. And if you are ever passing through Kinsale, the “Gourmet Capital of Ireland,” stop by the park on your way out of town, by the “new” bridge, and settle yourself on the only bench there. Take in the beauty of the lush green grass, the wind-bent trees, the deep blue river, and lonely Ringrone tower in the distance. My parents will surely make you feel welcome.