Oh Thank Heaven, For 7-11

by Nancy Bestor

At times when you’re on the road, you find great help in the most unlikely places. Once when Bob and I were traveling across the country in a Volkswagen bus, we found it at an auto repair shop near Taos, but really it was in the middle of nowhere. We were having serious problems with our van, and the mechanic needed to order a part to fix it. There were no motels nearby, and he kindly let us camp on his property, and use the restroom in his shop during the night.

On another trip, Bob and I were returning from Mt. Shasta to Ashland after midnight when our car (a different car than the Volkswagen bus, but just as unreliable) broke down on the side of I-5. We were nowhere near a freeway off-ramp, it was before the days of cellphones, and I was five months pregnant. While I sat in the car, Bob stood on the side of the highway, trying to flag down one of the few cars on the road. Fortunately a van stopped, and it was full of band members on their way to a gig in Eugene. We sat on the floor of the van, amongst guitar cases and amplifiers, grateful that a band we had never heard of was willing to give two strangers a ride in the middle of the night.

On a recent trip to Japan, my salvation came in the form of 7-11. I’ve always liked 7-11. Their Coca Cola slurpee is one of the most delicious things to drink on a hot summer day. And when you’re in need of what my youngest would call a little “something something,” also known as a treat, 7-11 has options galore. What I didn’t know is that in Japan, 7-11’s also have easily accessible, spic and span restrooms.

My stomach doesn’t always agree with me. For as long as I can remember, there are times when it declares that it has had enough with whatever I’ve been putting into it. And right then and there, with precious little warning, it decides to rebel. And when it rebels……well, I think you get the idea. When Bob and I were walking in a suburban Tokyo neighborhood earlier this year, with no bathroom in site, my stomach let out a few warning rumbles. Looking everywhere for a bathroom, my stomach quickly let me know I would have to find relief soon, very soon. We stopped in at a museum/historical site and communicated that we needed a bathroom. The kind man at the site gestured that they didn’t have one, but he pointed us around the corner, and as near as we could tell, his words were “7-11.”

Not sure that we heard him right, but in desperation, we rushed around the corner and sure enough, saw the familiar sign ahead. 7-11 did indeed do me right that day, providing a much needed (which is a major understatement) public restroom that was spotlessly clean and thankfully empty.

This occurred early in our trip, and from then on, every time we happened upon a 7-11, we would remark “oh thank heaven,” and also use their public restroom. But Japan’s 7-11’s answered other important needs for us too. 7-11 ATM’s seemed to be the only ATM’s that reliably accepted our debit cards to give us yen. Oh, thank heaven. We also bought delicious steamed buns and other surprisingly VERY good Japanese food at 7-11. And I’m not talking about hot dogs that have been rolling around on a warmer for hours and hours. Oh, thank heaven. 7-11 also became our go-to spot for clothing items—Bob bought “the best beanie he owns” for the cold winter weather, and Liz bought a very nice head scarf/ear warmer. Japan’s 7-11’s seem to sell just about everything, including every imaginable size and color of masks for those who don’t want to expose themselves to germs.’

While there are no Slurpee’s at Japanese 7-11’s, there are things far better. A slurpee is delicious and all, but I think we can all agree that a clean bathroom in times of stomach desperation is like manna. Oh, thank heaven.


Traveled Down the Road and Back Again

by Nancy Bestor

What is the secret to finding good travel companions? Chances are you travel well with your mate and your kids (unless your kids complain a lot when you’re walking in Thailand and it’s hot and humid—but I digress). But what about friends and relatives? Just because you get along on the golf course, at the office, or at Thanksgiving dinner, doesn’t, in my humble opinion, mean that all will be fine when on you’re the road.

I believe the key to good travel companions is finding like-minded folks. Are you the type of traveler who likes to dine at expensive and trendy restaurants? Then you probably don’t want to travel with someone who prefers to eat at hole in the wall spots (aka Bob & I). Do you enjoy walking the entire length of a city and exploring different neighborhoods? Then don’t travel with someone who prefers a hop-on, hop-off bus experience. When you wake up in the morning, do you like to sit in peace and quiet for 30 minutes, enjoying a good cup of coffee and a lovely view? It’s likely then that your ideal travel companion is not the person who starts talking immediately the moment they get out of bed, and is ready and raring to go as soon as they get out of their pajamas.

Bob and I have been fortunate enough to travel with other folks. Now I know that sounds like we don’t enjoy traveling alone together, when indeed we do (right Bob?), but it’s also been very fun to travel with friends and family too. Last fall we took our first-ever tour, a bike trip in Jordan. Eight of us traveled together for eight days. We spent pretty much all day every day together. While we knew four of the people on the tour, only one was a close friend. The other three were Ashland folks who we hadn’t spent too much time with, but, from sharing travel stories, we figured it would work. And it did. (Just look at how much fun we are having in the elevator photo—thank you Sean for the goofy group selfie!) At the end of our adventure, I was sad to say goodbye to everyone and I can honestly say that every single person on that tour is now a friend. In fact, some days I find myself longing to spend quality time with them again.

We also spent two weeks earlier this year in Japan with Bob’s parents. This was our first vacation as a foursome, and although I can’t speak for them, it was indeed an excellent time for us. We enjoyed many great experiences—that mostly revolved around sharing in Japan’s culture and eating delicious food.

Here are a few things I believe make a trip with friends and relatives more enjoyable:

  • Being OK with splitting up to do the things you want to do, without worrying about hurt feelings. In Japan, most days we would spend the morning and early afternoon with Bob’s parents, and then we would head our separate ways for several hours, and connect back up again at dinner time. Some days some of us went back to the hotel and napped while others were out pounding the pavement. Other times some of us visited stores and sites that not everyone was interested in. But then, when we got back together again for dinner, it was fun to share our separate experiences.
  • Recognizing there are times when you just want to have some alone time. One of my traveling friends told me in Jordan that she was going to tour Petra on her own one morning to feed her inner introvert. I loved that phrase. As much as I enjoy being around people, I also really enjoy being on my own. Even if I’m just reading a book or surfing the internet. Everyone needs time to recharge their social batteries.
  • Compromising. This is the trickiest one, because really, who wants to compromise? But maybe one night someone has strong feelings about where they want to eat dinner. Perhaps it’s not your first choice, but being willing to compromise should mean that you’ll get to eat at your spot the next night.
  • Choosing the right kind of trip. One of the things that made our trip to Jordan so fantastic was that we all enjoyed biking, and knew most days would be spent in the saddle. This would not have been the right trip for people who don’t enjoy bike riding. Bob and three of his friends toured India for three weeks a few years ago, and stayed in low to mid range hotels, and ate lots of meals at roadside food stalls. Someone looking for high-end lodging and white tablecloth restaurants would not have been happy on their India trip.

I’d like to think that everyone I know would enjoy a trip with Bob and me. But the truth is, maybe not everyone would find me to be an enjoyable travel companion. And I’m okay with that. Or am I?





I Got a Brand New Set of Rules

by Nancy Bestor

If you spend any time with me, you’ll quickly learn I am a rule follower. I like to get to places on time (or, truth be told, even a little early), I struggle with questioning authority, and when someone tells me to wait in line or do something a certain way, I tend to do as I am told. Thus, every time I fly, I follow the TSA 311 rules to a T. All my liquids are jammed into one clear quart-sized bag, and the bottles holding said liquids are 3 ounces or less. And, of course, I always leave my hunting knives, firearms, and meat cleavers at home.

But on a recent trip, I noticed that in the TSA line in Medford, Oregon, the folks just ahead of me were not following the rules. They had shampoo AND conditioner bottles much larger than 3 ounces in their carry on. The bottles were not entirely full, but they were easily six ounces, or more. I smirked (to myself of course, because when I’m judgmental, I like to be judgmental in private), and waited for the TSA agent to confiscate their bottles. But alas, the agent said “these bottles are larger than carry on regulations. Next time please use the proper size.” And then he let them through, WITH THEIR BOTTLES!

Now perhaps the TSA agents at our little airport in Medford are kinder than TSA agents at larger airports. This could be true. But if TSA security regulations in place to prevent terrorism forbid travelers from carrying on large quantities of liquid, don’t you think all TSA agents everywhere should enforce those rules? Which, of course, begs the question, are liquids in bottles larger than 3 ounces a real security risk? Frankly, I think not.

Looking around at online traveler forums, I found that many travelers have carried on items that are not TSA-approved. Maybe it’s a full sized lotion bottle in their suitcase, or a swiss army knife in their purse. But again and again, travelers report that they are carrying on items that are not legal.

The long and short of it is that I will not stop following the rules. My deepest fear is that the one time I break the rules, I’ll get caught. And the TSA will not only confiscate my illegal item, but I’ll be subject to an additional search which will annoy me to no end. If you, on the other hand, are a risk taker, you might just get to carry your illegal items on to your next flight. Apparently, you won’t be the only one.

And Then There Were None

by Nancy Bestor

I have a hard time silencing my brain. Many nights I lie awake in bed, conducting a committee meeting in my head. It’s often when I’m trying to get to sleep that I come up with new ideas, plans, and of course, worries, that I don’t think about when I’m busy performing other tasks. Thus it came as no surprise to me on a recent trip with my daughters to a spa in Calistoga, CA, that when I was supposed to be “relaxing,” my mind instead worked double time.

We were on a Spring Break trip to visit my family, and since we were in the Napa Valley, I decided we should take a morning and pamper ourselves with a mud bath, mineral water soak, steam, and blanket-wrapped cool down at Indian Springs Resort and Spa. For $95 each, we spent over an hour luxuriating at the Spa, and theoretically, “detoxifying and relaxing.” It was indeed luxurious, and although it may have detoxified my body (but how would I know?), it really didn’t relax my brain.

As California’s oldest continuously operating pool and spa facility, Indian Springs boasts four thermal geysers that produce mineral water, as well as a deposit of volcanic ash that runs through the property. The water supplies the mineral pool and steam rooms, and together with the ash, creates the mud for the mud baths. The resort grounds are beautiful, and it was fun to watch the other guests ride around the property on bicycles while wearing white robes.

After checking in, we were ushered directly to the mud baths, where once you’ve showered, you are helped into a deep tub of warm gooey mud. An attendant covered us in the mud, and left us to “relax” for 10 minutes. Here is just a sample of the relaxing thoughts I had during my 10 minutes of mud bathing. “I wonder if someone could be murdered by being buried alive under enough of this mud? Am I going to be hungry for lunch? Is that really my stomach poofed out so big under this mud? Does the attendant remember that I am here? Are my 10 minutes up yet? This is the longest 10 minutes of my life.” And so on, and so on, and so on.

When the attendant came and helped me out of the tub, I moved to the shower to wash off. Let me tell you that mud from a mud bath gets everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. No further words are needed.

Then it was on to the mineral soak where I bathed in a luxuriously deep claw-foot tub. I enjoyed this part quite a bit. From a clever tray placed over my tub, I was able to drink delicious cucumber water, and clean my cuticles with a wooden cuticle pusher—a nice touch. Soon though it was time for the steam room. Sitting alone in the steam for about 10 minutes, my mind wandered again. “I wonder if someone could be murdered by being locked in a steam room for too long?” These thoughts are likely the result of too much Agatha Christie in my childhood. “Am I going to be hungry for lunch? When is the attendant going to come and get me? WHEN?” Again, not so relaxing.

Finally, I moved to the blanket-wrapped cool down, where fresh cucumber slices were placed over my eyes and soothing music played. And in case you’re wondering—nope—I didn’t relax here either. Instead I wondered if the sound was turned on on my phone, which I had put into the pocket of my robe to take pictures. And, additionally, I had to pee, which does not lend itself to relaxation.

Indian Springs is a lovely spa, and I’m certain a less anxious person would enjoy it more than I. The staff was quite attentive and friendly, the spa and its offerings quite luxurious, and the property stunning. Perhaps I’m just not a spa gal. I’m guess I’m going to stick to my bathtub at home, where murder wouldn’t be quite so easy.

Pick Up The Phone I’m Always Home

by Nancy Bestor

Last month I traveled to Los Angeles on Allegiant Air out of Medford, Oregon. My round trip flight was $130, a bargain in my opinion. I did not choose a seat ahead of time (up to $80), I did not sign up for preboarding ($4 – $12), I did not request a boarding pass ($5), I did not bring a carry-on suitcase ($10-$75) to go in the overhead compartment, and I did not buy any food or water (water costs $2) on the flight. So although Allegiant can add on fees, one does not have to pay them. And when one opts out, the bargain fare really does remain a bargain. I am perfectly willing to bring my own snacks and fill up a water bottle after going through security in the airport. I am also fine with sitting in any seat on the plane, as long as my flight is a short one. I had no complaints about my flight, but I did have one complaint about Allegiant.

I forgot to enter my Global Entry “known traveler id number” when I booked my flight. Once I realized this, I figured I could easily add it to my Allegiant ticket. Well I figured wrong. After some internet research, I determined that the best way to add my id number would be to call Allegiant. Apparently, cheap tickets translate to few customer service representatives, because I waited on the phone for 55 minutes before giving up. Allegiant’s website said you can call their phone number (it didn’t say that someone would answer—ha) or add your id number with an agent at the airport. I figured I could add it in Medford, and although it might not work for my flight down to LA, it would certainly work for the flight back. Once again, I figured wrong. The Allegiant agents at the ticket counter, although very nice, had absolutely NO IDEA what I was talking about. One of them had never even heard of a known traveler id number. I found myself having to explain what the id number is, then having to educate them on what it says on Allegiant’s website about adding it to my ticket. Needless to say, they were not able to help me and I didn’t get TSA precheck in either direction.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world though. And again, my direct flight was only $130 round trip. I learned my lesson too. From here on out, I will ALWAYS put my known traveler id number in my booking when I make it, and I will not expect a customer service person to answer a phone. Because how ridiculous is that?

Don’t Ask Me No Questions

by Nancy Bestor

Bob and I have a habit of getting into interesting conversations with strangers when we are traveling. Sometimes we’re sitting in a bar enjoying a beer and end up chatting with locals and/or tourists sitting near us, hearing their stories, why they’re where they are, and what they do when they’re not traveling or sitting in a bar.


If you know me, you’ll understand how this happens. I will ask questions as long as you will let me. Truth be told, I’m a nosy person. But there is something weirdly fascinating in learning things about strangers, particularly strangers from other countries. I will very likely never see these folks again, yet I have a crazy urge to know if they are in a relationship, what their job is, how they spend their free time, and more. And what’s equally fascinating is that people are willing to answer my questions. Maybe they’re a little lonely, or perhaps they don’t get the chance to talk about themselves very often. Whatever the reason, I have yet to meet a person unwilling to answer my questions.

Last month, on a trip in Japan, we met a couple at Meiji Jingu Temple in Tokyo. This time, they approached me (really, they did), and asked if I spoke English, and if so, could I answer a couple of questions for them. Of course I was more than willing to answer their questions, but soon enough, I was able to turn the tables and get a few of my own questions answered. It turns out that Yoshihiko is a big fan of American comedy, and one of his favorite shows is Saturday Night Live. In his broken but quite good English, Yoshihiko told us how he loves the skits SNL puts on, particularly the political skits featuring Hillary Clinton and the Donald. This of course led to a conversation about whom we voted for and how we felt about the results. They also wondered if we could explain the Donald’s victory. (Side note: we could not.)

Then we got to talking about Japanese culture. My question to them was why do so many Japanese people wear masks over their noses and mouths? The answer was complicated, they said. At first, people started wearing masks to prevent themselves from getting sick when in public places, especially on crowded trains. But then it turned into something quite different. It became a way to hide their faces. In their own words, wearing a mask is a “strange” cultural phenomenon of Japanese people, but those without masks do not “seem calm.”


We exchanged emails and upon our return to the US, sent a picture of us with them, and let them know we enjoyed meeting them. They replied, thanking us for our kindness during our conversation. (Not once did they mention that I was nosy.) They also told us that they would like to visit the USA.

And this is why we travel. Not just to see new places, but to meet different people and learn about different cultures. Maybe I am nosy, but I’m not going to stop asking questions. I’m just getting started.


I Guess It’s Healthy, I Guess the Air is Clean

by Nancy Bestor

I grew up in the “big city”. I’ve lived there, I’ve worked there, and I’ve traveled there. And although I feel like I am experienced, there are times when I’m away from little Ashland, Oregon, and I feel like a country mouse with its mouth agape in astonishment. Last weekend in Los Angeles was one such occasion.

I was in L.A. to spend a couple days with my daughters, but their plane was due to arrive several hours later than mine. So after picking up a rental car, I headed out to explore the City of Angels. My plan was to go to one of the 17 hottest Los Angeles cheap eats restaurants,  then head to a nearby movie at the Landmark Theater. I figured I had plenty of time to accomplish both before I would need to return to LAX. That was the first mistake of this country mouse. I left room in my schedule for traffic, but not the kind of traffic that requires 65 minutes to go just 10 miles—thanks Google Maps for the heads up. Once I realized I couldn’t make it to dinner and a movie in time, I dropped the dinner plan and just went for a movie.


Nixing dinner worked out perfectly however, as the Landmark theater in West Los Angeles has a beautiful bar where I got a salad and beer before my movie, and then took the rest of my beer into the theater. The gleaming concession counter at the Landmark looked like a place you might buy diamonds, not Nestle Crunch Nuggets (one of my weaknesses).


And in addition to the lovely bar and fancy concession stand, the Landmark also boasts a lobby concierge, assigned theater seating, parking validation, and, similar to an airport departures board, a screen in the bar displaying the times when each movie will begin seating, so you’re sure not to be late. An employee even came into the theater to introduce the movie, and point out a few features of the theater. My movie did cost $14, but honestly, it was worth it. I do love my sweet little Varsity Theater here in Ashland, but every once in a while it’s nice to pretend I’m not a country mouse, and enjoy the benefits of the “big city.”