Mary Novaria

Credit: Jill Wellington/Pixabay My mother-in-law was a game, world traveler who liked her creature comforts. She’d have ridden a camel through the desert in the hot North African sun as long she could stay at the Ritz Carlton that night. In a room with a view.  My vacation plans aren’t quite as luxurious and exotic, although I do appreciate room service breakfast, sheets with a high thread count, and fluffy terry cloth robes... and occasionally good luck falls into my lap. “A seat with your name on it just opened up in First Class.”  Hallelujah.   “We’re relocating you to a corner suite.”  There is a God, after all.   “It’s your birthday! How 'bout a complimentary Molten Chocolate Lava Cake?!”  Duh.   You’d think I’d be grateful, ecstatic even, about the swanky rental car I scored on a recent trip, but here’s a travel tip: Some luxury upgrades are just, well, “extra” – and not in a good way.   I checked in online the day before in the interest of ...

My husband, John, and I came back to our new home in Colorado after a week away. Before we left, the aspens in our yard had just barely started to turn. Still mostly green, a few edges of flickering coins yielding to yellow. The evergreens in the mountains around us had been spiked with patches of gold for a few weeks. We’d driven around reveling in the glory of them, looking forward to their splendor in our first fall here. But the trees in our yard and others in our neighborhood were slower to turn. I wondered why. Altitude? Moisture? Our friend Alan had told us shortly after we’d moved in that we wouldn’t believe our luck when the grove in our yard turned that spectacular, shimmering gold. We left for Kansas City the night before we’d planned because the meteorologists predicted snow. Not just an early autumn dusting, but an actual winter storm. It wasn’t even the middle of October! But what did I expect in the Rockies? Our seven years in Los Angeles had ...

We love the Southwest. SANTA FE, N.M. -- John and I are on an extended, working road trip throughout the West. We love the scrubby, desert landscape, the mountains, and the big skies. We’re doing the Airbnb, VRBO thing, because we want to get the feel of what it’s like to actually live in a place, as opposed to staying in a hotel. Sometimes, though, the accommodations can cause one to rethink this strategy. The thing is, this place looks above average in the marketing materials and has wonderful reviews. We're not overly critical or picky, either. I guess finding a vacation rental is kind of like using an online dating service. There could be two terrific people, but in the end, they just don't have anything in common.  If you have a zealous obsession for all things Southwest, the Santa Fe condo we’ve rented just might be the place for you. Swaddle yourself in Native American blankets you’ve ripped off the walls, and imagine you’re transported to a gallery overflo...

By  Mary Novaria   May 25, 2017                                        (Washington Post Illustration/iStock images) The first time I went to Paris, I was a newlywed. The last time, I was a mother. Both times, I was disabused of any notion that Paris is the most romantic city on earth. When my husband John and I went to Paris two years into our marriage, I thought it would be like a “real” honeymoon, our first having been just two gray days in Chicago. For weeks leading up to our departure, I hummed a calliope of French movie themes while slow motion pictures flickered through my mind: John and I strolling hand in hand along the Seine… gazing into each other’s eyes, whispering Je t’aime over romantic dinners in candlelit bistros… sipping champagne atop the Eiffel Tower as the sun set and the city lights twinkled below. In every scene, I wore a little bla...