The other day I got this e-mail from a reader.
Dear Alan:
I’ve been a big fan of yours ever since you were on the baseball beat.
I love e-mails that start like that. But I digress.
It just occurred to me, he went on, that you’ve been writing for the Travel section for 10 years now. My question is this:
How do you look at yourself in the mirror every morning knowing that since 1988, you’ve been paid to watch baseball, travel the world and stuff yourself in places like Cincinnati and Paris at Tribune expense?
The other thing is, How do I get your job?
Which, I guess, is actually two questions.
(signed) A reader and a big fan of yours
Well, OK. I’m going to ignore that first question, even though I actually wrote the e-mail.
As for the second question–I get asked that a lot and, frankly, I’m tired of it.
People seem to think this job is just one boondoggle after another. The following is an actual conversation I had not long ago with a colleague:
Solomon: “I’m going on vacation.”
Colleague: “How can you tell?”
Look, the thing we do–on your behalf, I might add–is harder than it looks, and it ain’t all that much fun. Listen to this.
Back in 1997, I was assigned to do a story on Scotland. To get it right, over 10 days I was forced to play four great golf courses (including the Old Course at St. Andrews) and sample 16 single-malt whiskeys.
Maybe that’s a bad example.
Antarctica.
Skip that.
Here’s one: Imagine steering a houseboat for a week down a canal in central France and being forced to take pictures while The Wife climbed in and out of the boat and got her hands all roughed up and scraped her knees opening 72 locks–sometimes in the rain, her hair dripping, tears running down her cheeks, anger welling with every stubborn lock . . . and my not knowing whether my pictures would come out.
See?
So next time you even start to think, “I want Solomon’s job,” just remember this:
The chili in Cincinnati may be overrated, but the beer is usually cold in Nepal, especially if you’re in the mountains and you leave it out all night.
As for 2004:
Best reason to always pack a shovel: In the space of four months, we endured Beijing’s earliest snowstorm in 13 years and Athens’ biggest snowstorm in 20. Both, by the way, were gorgeous.
Best reason to stay on this job: In the space of six months, I touched the Great Wall, the Parthenon, the Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum, the Prado and a really good margarita.
Second-best, but close: Pigeon with foie gras, and duck with orange sauce, plus dessert, plus a world-class view, $84 (and this was lunch); La Tour d’Argent, Paris.
Best dumplings: Shanghai. Dough filled with meat and hot soup and eaten very carefully.
Best trip, maybe ever, unless it was the France canal boat: A Kenya/Tanzania safari. You’ll read about it later.
Once was fine, but that was enough: Roast camel; Carnivore Restaurant, Nairobi.
Once was fine, but that was enough: Manitoba.
Best city, foreign: Paris. One of a handful of cities where just being there elevates everything.
Best city, U.S.: New York. Same deal.
Most surprising city, foreign: Zurich. In three earlier visits, it seemed pleasant but borrrr-ring. But on a Saturday night in February, it was anything but, and that’s all I want to say.
Most surprising city, U.S.: San Francisco. Just when you think you know everything about it, you discover another cool neighborhood.
Most surprising revelation about a famous movie star: In Little Rock’s new William J. Clinton Presidential Library and Museum, in a display asserting Clinton’s passion for golf, there was this: “He played on courses all over the world, with Tiger Woods, Jack Nicholson and other golf legends.”
Best question about the inevitable George W. Bush Presidential Library: Will it have any . . . okay, sorry, I know, the election’s over.
Most underappreciated towns: Dakota (either Dakota) prairie towns. It’s still 1880. Good folks too.
Most underrated restaurants: Wisconsin supper clubs. When all you want is a generous cocktail, a relish tray, a basic salad, another generous cocktail and a steak or some walleye done just right–without dressing up or taking out a loan–there’s nothing better.
Best reason to head back to Wisconsin’s North Woods: Still haven’t hooked a muskie.
Biggest fish landed: A 9-foot, 85-pound sailfish off Zihuatanejo, Mexico. On the whole, I’d rather have had the muskie.
Best hotel: The Serengeti Serena, in Tanzania. The Cape buffalo that almost ran me down was just a nice bonus.
Best Disneyland ride: Pirates of the Caribbean.
Best barbecue: Whole Hog Cafe, Little Rock. Especially the ribs ($15.99/slab), with Sauce No. 3.
Most underrated refresher: The frappe, Greece and Turkey. It’s just a glass of instant coffee on the rocks with milk, but you get to sit at the table and watch the parade for an hour without dozing off.
Biggest tech-based peeve, highway: It’s a four-lane interstate, 70 m.p.h. limit, I’m trying to get somewhere, the guy in the right lane has his cruise control set at 63 (I can live with that) and another guy in the left lane, with his own cruise control set at 63 1/2, is passing him . . . very . . . very . . . slowly.
Biggest tech-based peeve, sightseeing: The guy with the digital camera you think is taking a picture, so you stop to avoid messing up his shot–when in fact he’s just looking at everything through that little screen.
Biggest tech-based peeve, life: Cellphones. You know the rest.
Upgrading would’ve been cheaper: Swiss International Air Lines, in Coach, wanted the equivalent of $3.60 for a Coke . . . and that was before the dollar tanked.
Best ruin: The Parthenon. It’s barely standing, thanks to centuries of abuse, neglect and natural battering, but it’s still the most awesome ancient structure outside Egypt.
Most expensive entree: Live (until it was steamed) wild-caught eastern star garoupa, $90.09; Yu restaurant, Hong Kong.
Most expensive entree not ordered: Live (but better steamed) wild-caught mouse garoupa, $154.44; Yu restaurant, Hong Kong.
Best street munchie: Kuluri, Athens. Part soft pretzel, part bagel, covered with sesame seeds. No mustard. This isn’t Philadelphia.
Guiltiest pleasure: Bullfights in Madrid. When they’re good, they’re tremblingly good.
Most satisfying counterattack: The sharp right hand to the sternum that staggered a would-be pickpocket in a Madrid Metro station.
Best beach: Either Second Beach or Ruby Beach, on the Washington State coast. Ideally, in a light rain, holding hands with someone you like a lot.
Silliest list, which is why it’s down here: I’ve now seen, onstage, “West Side Story” in Dutch (Amsterdam), “Sweeney Todd” in Portuguese (Lisbon), “Kiss Me Kate” in German (Zurich, I think), “Cabaret” in Spanish (Madrid), “Chicago” in Italian (Rome) and “Les Miserables” in English (London).
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Alan Solomon has, indeed, been at this for 10 years, and if he hadn’t won all those awards he’d be back in Sports covering preps, eating bad hot dogs and paying for them himself. E-mail him at asolomon@tribune.com.
