Europe: Day 4, Amsterdam

Nab a hotel room at the last minute Orbitz's mobile service lists hotels in 20 U.S. cities that have vacancies for that very night. You can't book through a PDA, however. Instead, Orbitz lists its phone number, which you can call by pressing one button. Be aware that Orbitz is known to charge more than if you call the hotel directly, so it's also worth contacting the property. mobile.orbitz.com. Get directions and more The downloadable application of Google Maps is nearly identical to the version you've already used on a desktop. You can search for an address or just the name of a road, town, or business and then view the location as a map or a satellite image. The point-to-point directions, doled out one turn at a time on a PDA screen, are easy to follow, and there's even a feature that reveals real-time traffic info. google.com/gmm, free. Scope the scene at the airport Using FlightStats, type the three-letter code of the airport you're flying from or the beginning of the airport name. You'll get an instant response with an estimate of how long the airport's security line will be, based on data from the Transportation Security Administration. The service also tracks delays for airports and specific flights. mobile.flightstats.com, free. Learn about changes in your itinerary Anyone who has booked a flight, package, or hotel through Orbitz can sign up to receive free instant alerts on a PDA about delays, cancellations, or other involuntary changes (mobile.orbitz.com). Many airlines have a similar alert service for flights. Translate languages Beiks is the leader in foreign-language tools for mobile devices, selling downloadable dictionaries and phrase books for 26 languages. Some of the programs from Beiks will even pronounce words and phrases for you. beiks.com, from $8. Check the weather forecast There are dozens of ways to get weather reports with a PDA, but the Weather Channel's service is the quickest and easiest. It gives extended forecasts for 98,000 locations around the globe and pulls up storm systems on radar maps that look as good as they would on a computer or the TV news. www.weather.com/mobile, free. Find the perfect restaurant Zagat to Go contains the same restaurant, hotel, and nightlife reviews as those offered in its books and subscription-based online service. With one download, you get the scoop on where to eat, sleep, and hang out in 77 cities--including 41 in the U.S. Sign up for the the free two-week trial just before you head off on a vacation; that might be all you need. zagat.com, $30 per year. Figure out what time it is--anywhere Of the many world-clock programs available for download, perhaps the best is the PalmaryClock. Available only for Palm Treo devices, it lets you point to any location on a map and instantly get the local time. A shaded area on the map shows where it's currently nighttime. palmarysoft.com, $15. Transform from PDA to GPS To get the GPS capability on your PDA to work, you have to pay for a service such as Teleav. The monthly fee may very well be worth it. A satellite pinpoints your location, and when you plug in the address of where you want to go, turn-by-turn directions come from the PDA's speaker. Directions are available for drivers and walkers. The Biz Finder feature steers you to gas stations--it'll even search for the cheapest option, if you like--as well as to restaurants, hotels, and attractions. telenav.com, from $10 per month. Unless noted, all of these services will work on PDAs with standard operating systems such as Palm OS or Windows Mobile. Bear in mind that you may need a few free megabytes of memory to download any of the applications.

When I told friends I was heading to Puerto Vallarta, they all had the same amused response: "That's where the Love Boat used to go, right?" Yes, friends, Mexico's popular resort town, in the curve of Banderas Bay, was the port that Captain Stubing and crew pulled into each week. The cruise ships still come, as do floods of American and Canadian tourists, who more often than not seek a certain kind of vacation. Which is apparently why, on the ride from the airport, our cabdriver keeps pushing the foam party that night at Señor Frog's. "And over here we have the Hard Rock Cafe!" he says graciously, welcoming my husband, Tim, and me to Mexico. Surely Puerto Vallarta has much more to offer than Jell-O shot specials set to the beat of Fergie's latest single. I wasn't all that into the spring break scene even when I was in college. For this trip, I wanted to experience Mexico as a grown-up. When researching where to stay, I sought a romantic, intimate inn rather than a big resort--the kind of place where the proprietors encourage guests to explore Puerto Vallarta instead of sticking to preplanned itineraries or zoning out in their air-conditioned rooms. So what a delight when our cabbie, after a last plug for two-for-one night at Carlos O'Brian's, drops us off at the Quinta Maria Cortez, an eclectically decorated seven-room B&B built into the steep hills right on Playa Conchas Chinas. In our airy suite, French doors open up from the bedroom onto a balcony, below which a deserted beach beckons. I open a complimentary can of Tecate and soak up the crisp, clean air. In the morning we meet some of the guests over huevos rancheros and French toast on the inn's patio. There's a small group of gay professionals from Laguna Beach, Calif., who are driving to nearby Mismaloya in a Jeep that José Ruiz de Anda, the Quinta's elegant manager, helped them rent. Then there are a friendly husband and wife from Seattle heading out for a morning of snorkeling, and Minnesotan honeymooners who are hitting the flea markets. So much for my fears that this is a one-note town. The beach outside the inn is gorgeous--and empty, shockingly, even though it's just a 15-minute walk on the sand from downtown's Playa Los Muertos, where there's always a circus of happy tourists and trinket-and-parasail-ride pushers. Whenever the mood strikes me, I ease down to the beach, where the water is refreshingly cold. I wade out into the clear turquoise tide pools or laze around on the sand, idly searching for deep-purple seashells. Mostly, I just sit in peace, giddy that I have the place entirely to myself. There's more fun to be had than basking in the ever-present sun, however. Every Wednesday night from late October through March, Puerto Vallarta celebrates its painters, potters, and sculptors with the Art Walk. Tim and I head to Viejo Vallarta (the old town) to browse the cluster of small galleries, where hosts keep their doors open late into the evening, offer free wine and cocktails, and gush over their exhibitions, which are surprisingly sophisticated for a beach town. At Galeria Uno, I sip a piña colada while the resident cats, Frida and Matisse, weave through the chattering crowd. Tim's college roommate has made a mint in Puerto Vallarta's real estate market the last nine years, and when Tim hits him up for restaurant suggestions, he sings the praises of a Chinese restaurant, a flat-crust pizza joint, and a couple of new Thai and sushi restaurants. Weirdly enough, he says, you have to hunt for high-quality Mexican food. We didn't come to Mexico for egg rolls, so he steers us off the Malecón--the half-mile cement-and-stone boardwalk that's the heart of downtown--to El Arrayan. "They serve the type of Mexican food where you feel like there's a fat old grandma in the kitchen blessing each dish on its way out," he promises. At the end of a decadent meal of empanadas de platanos, boneless pork leg, and chipotle shrimp, we fight over the last bite of dessert--calabaza con piloncillo, a caramelized squash that has forever redefined my relationship with pumpkin pie. Carmen, the young, charismatic owner, saunters over with shots of raicilla, Puerto Vallarta's local moonshine. "Careful, this can blind you," she jokes. It tastes like tequila crossed with kerosene. A second shot and we'd probably have ended up at Señor Frogs dancing until dawn with leprechaun hats on our heads. The next day we're ready for a little adventure. José arranges for his friend at Rancho Rides to take us on a four-hour horseback tour into the Sierra Madre. Apolonio, a shy, cinema-ready cowboy in a beat-up hat, a shirt with pearl buttons, and frayed huaraches, introduces us to our mounts, Tigre and Alison, and off we go. Once we cross the Cuale River a few times and ride through Apolonio's rural neighborhood, we leave behind the human race as our horses clamber up the steep trail. My husband speaks a little Spanish, and Apolonio speaks even less English, but they manage to chat happily for most of the ride. When we get to a deserted waterfall at the top and break for a swim, Apolonio gestures at our surroundings and wonders about our hometown. "Is New York City look like this?" he asks. "No!" we answer in unison. To mix things up, we get out of town midway through our week's vacation. There are several great overnight trips from Puerto Vallarta, including the surfer town of Sayulita, the chic beaches of Punta Mita, and the secluded village of Yelapa. We go for the latter because we've heard it's paradise. We catch a Yelapa Water Taxi from Los Muertos pier (the only way to get to Yelapa). The boat dodges a couple of lazy sea turtles on the 45-minute ride. Our days in Puerto Vallarta have left me relaxed, but as the boat rounds the bend into Yelapa's calm cove, I can just about feel my blood pressure slow to a near stop. Yelapa got electricity all of five and a half years ago, and there are no roads or cars. The largely American and Canadian expat population oozes a Jimmy Buffett-like satisfaction, fully content with a life spent in shorts. Our first stop after tumbling out of the motorboat is the beachfront Hotel Lagunita. The low-key, rustic hotel, with a yoga studio next door, is the hub of "activity" in Yelapa. We settle in under one the palapas for Coronas, guacamole, and shrimp aquachile: a ceviche of raw shrimp, lime, onions, and hot pepper. Lagunita is booked, but the masseuse, Nancy, who is followed everywhere by her pack of five rescued dogs, rents us one of her spacious guesthouses at Casa Frida. As it'll soon be dark, we grab one of our casa's flashlights and stroll along the water to the other end of the quarter-mile-long beach. After hiking a couple hundred steps, we're rewarded with one of the outdoor tables at the village's finest restaurant, La Galería. Our handsome waiter brings us mojitos and tamarind margaritas, pear salads, fresh-caught amberjack, and passion-fruit cheesecake, while we enjoy a candle-fringed view of the beach. The bill is under $40. No wonder everyone in Yelapa is in such a good mood. Back in Puerto Vallarta the next day, we check into Casa Amorita, a chic and warm four-room bed-and-breakfast. And what a breakfast! We have huevos divorciados, eggs fried and served with refried beans and red and green salsas. The owner roasts her own coffee, a special strong blend that's a tad spicy. I wind up buying two pounds to bring home. A few crucial blocks off the Malecón, behind the Cathedral Guadalupe, the inn has a roof deck with one of the town's best sunset views over the ocean. There's a vitality and authenticity to the neighborhood, too. Downtown, we saw mariachis playing in restaurants; here, we pass the band packing sombreros and instruments into the car trunk at the end of a gig. It's immediately clear that Casa Amorita's friendly staff knows the city inside and out, and when they tell us where to eat, we obey. Some of our vacation's finest meals are in the surrounding blocks, at Planeta Vegetariano, which offers a scrumptious $6 buffet, and at the simple, sunny tapas bar Esquina de los Caprichos, run by a chef from Mexico and his Spanish wife. For our last night in town, we head to Casa Amorita's vote for the best Mexican food in town, The Red Cabbage Cafe. Lola Bravo's friends worried when she opened her restaurant 11 years ago on the far edge of the Zona Romantica, a 15-minute walk from the Malecón. Judging from the line of people waiting outside, they worried needlessly. Inside, the walls are covered in Frida Kahlo prints, paintings of Billie Holiday, old Beatles albums, and stills of Richard Burton and John Huston--whose 1964 Night of the Iguana was shot in Puerto Vallarta. Every table is decorated differently. Ours is painted and stenciled with movie titles with the word cabbage subbed in: Silence of the Cabbages, The Red Badge of Cabbage, Jurassic Cabbage. Dinner is both delicious and beautiful: Queso Rebecca (a rich appetizer of panela cheese, chipotle salsa, and ancho chiles), grilled mahimahi, and the Maria de Jesus Mexican plate (chile relleno, grilled steak, and enchiladas in mole sauce). While we sip potent margaritas, Bravo greets the diners next to us warmly. Turns out we're eating next to the Mad magazine cartoonist Al Jaffee and his wife and friends. After dinner, Tim and I walk through the Zona Romantica, passing families congregating around food stalls and a buoyant wedding party spilling out of a church. We follow peals of laughter and music to the Malecón, where the amphitheater is packed with locals and tourists taking in street performances. A face-painted comedian in a Charlie Chaplin getup calls for a man from the audience to volunteer--and then promptly goes into the stands to hit on the guy's girlfriend. The show is in Spanish, but the laughter and energy are so infectious that we stay, standing on our toes and craning our heads with everyone else. Later that night, on our final stroll on the Malecón, we sit and gaze out over the water. Fireworks start going off at the other end of the bay. I settle in for the show, happy it's there and happy I'm here. Somewhere a killer foam party is just getting started. Transportation   Yelapa Water Taxi Los Muertos Pier, $11 one way Lodging   Quinta Maria Cortez 888/640-8100, quinta-maria.com, from $105   Hotel Lagunita, Yelapa, 011-52/322-20-95055, hotel-lagunita.com, from $80   Casa Frida, Yelapa, casafrida.com, $100   Casa Amorita 011-52/322-22-24926, casaamorita.com, $160 Food   El Arrayan Calle Allende 344, 011-52/322-22-27195, chipotle shrimp $19   La Galería Yelapa, 011-52/322-20-95045, amberjack $12   Planeta Vegetariano Calle Iturbide 270, 011-52/322-22-23073   Esquina de los Caprichos Calle Miramar 402, 011-52/322-14-10232, calamari $3.50   Red Cabbage Cafe Calle Rivera Del Rio 204A, 011-52/322-22-30411 Activities   Rancho Rides Calle Manantial 372, 011-52/322-22-24225, $15 per hour Shopping   Galeria Uno Calle Morelos 561, 011-52/322-22-20908 Correction: The above version of this article has the correct web address for Quinta Maria Cortez (quinta-maria.com). The original print edition contained an error.

Day 1: Le Mars to Perry Last year, my friend Shawnda and I overscheduled our annual road trip. This time, we want to wander more, in a place where we're unlikely to get overscheduled. But after studying western Iowa on the map, I'm worried that we won't find anything to do at all. Which isn't to say there hasn't been excitement already. Late the previous afternoon, we flew into Omaha, Nebr., from opposite coasts and drove north through the Loess Hills. We ate loose-meat sandwiches called Charlie Boys at Miles Inn in Sioux City, Iowa, and continued on to Le Mars. We were enjoying ice-cream sodas at the Blue Bunny ice-cream parlor when the power went out. (Thunderstorms.) The gaggle of Lindsay Lohans on staff went into an instant freak-out. Then one dropped a glass, and they took it up at least two notches. We left money on the counter and went outside--where it was bright enough to readThe Da Vinci Code, if not something more challenging. I digress. That was then, and now we see nothing within a hundred-mile radius. On the way into Cherokee, we pass a sign advertising indoor archery. I've hit two people with darts in my life; I'm not sure about raising the stakes. We discuss it over breakfast at Carey's restaurant. Shawnda says she'll risk it. "Where are your bows?" asks the friendly proprietor, who built the archery range next to his house. We thought it would be like bowling, where you can rent equipment. He encourages us to buy bows ($1,200 and up), pointing out that archery is a good family activity. If he only knew that I'm fighting the urge to rescue the plastic target animals leaning against the wall. In Ida Grove--where, for some reason, many buildings look like castles--we realize we're driving behind a truck pulling a beat-up car. "Demolition derby!" says Shawnda. "Follow him!" When the truck stops for gas, I send Shawnda out to charm the driver. She learns that the derby will be at the fairgrounds at 2 P.M. Six cars are positioned around a ring of mud, and then they're off, running into each other at what seem like fairly slow speeds. The crashes aren't quite as satisfying as when a car sprays spectators with mud, but we're thrilled anyway, cheering when there's a good crunch. We go southeast--or east, then south, then east, then south (driving in western Iowa is like being on an Etch A Sketch)--to Jefferson. This weekend is the Bell Tower Festival. Shawnda poses as Fay Wray in the King Kong cutout, and we briefly watch Jason the Juggler. On the ride up the 162-foot Mahanay Bell Tower, the elevator operator says that with the view, she can keep an eye on her kids. The one reservation I made was at the wonderful Hotel Pattee, a big, beautifully renovated hotel (alas, it has since closed). A wedding reception is being held in the lobby, and during our splurge of a dinner at the hotel, we have a great time admiring the dressed-up guests as they arrive. Afterward, we test out the old-fashioned, two-lane bowling alley in the hotel's basement. It would be unchivalrous to note the score. Food Miles Inn2622 Leech Ave., Sioux City, 712/276-9825, Charlie Boy $2.25 Blue Bunny20 Fifth Ave. NW, Le Mars, 712/546-4522 Carey's115 S. Second St., Cherokee, 712/225-3215, breakfast $5 Activities Bell Tower Festival Jefferson, belltowerfestival.org Mahanay Bell TowerJefferson, 515/386-8134, $2, 11 A.M.-4 P.M. in summer Day 2: Perry to Des Moines Shawnda has family in Manly, Iowa, and used to visit as a kid. One of the things she remembers fondly is the water-tower game: If you spot a water tower, you get to punch the other person (her sister, back in the day) in the arm. Shawnda soon starts playing by what I call crazy-lady rules--meaning that if I see one and punch her, she hits me back three times, just because. We do this for the next three days. In Marshalltown, there's a town square with an ornate courthouse in the middle, and we have yet to realize that pretty much every town in Iowa has one. After a brief stop, we go north-then-east to Gladbrook, home of the Matchstick Marvels museum. Patrick Acton, a community college career counselor, has been using matchsticks to make models of buildings and other stuff for 30 years. They're impressive, especially the one of Hogwarts (it has since been hauled off to a museum in Spain). A video about Acton mentions his wife. "He's married?!" says Shawnda. I point out that a husband with an obsession might be preferable to one with free time. Matchstick Marvels shares space with the movie theater, and a sign says that Seat Savers rent for 50¢. You arrive early, place the piece of fabric on your seat, and come back before the show. Try that where I'm from and you'll lose the seat, the Saver, and the 50¢. At this point, we realize that when the map shows a squiggly road, it means the road goes around hills or along a stream. We take the Iowa Valley Scenic Byway, and it's a beaut. At the eastern end, we head back west toward Des Moines, after a photo op in a town called Brooklyn. We drive to the capitol building because it's there. Not unlike the various courthouses, it's big and dramatic, but with a shiny gold dome. It's Sunday, so we park in a Supreme Court justice's spot. An astounding memorial includes a sculpture of a woman cupping her bare breasts. IOWA: HER AFFECTIONS, LIKE THE RIVERS OF HER BORDERS, FLOW TO AN INSEPARABLE UNION, says the inscription. We take many photos. The downside to underplanning is that you risk ending up at bad restaurants. We're at one, waiting for the host, when I pick up a paper with local listings. A restaurant called Centro has gotten a rave review, and when I see the phrase "coal-oven pizza," we're there. Centro is a lofty space decorated with posters for Perugina and Campari. There's an open kitchen and outdoor seating (though it's too hot tonight). The restaurant has more in common with where we're from than with why we came, but it feels good. When the waiter asks where we're staying, we shrug. He offers to call the Hotel Fort Des Moines, which is affiliated with the restaurant. I figure we'll get more of the same stylishness. Wrong. It's a motel masquerading as a hotel--a rip-off, in other words--and I could kick myself. Lodging Hotel Fort Des Moines1000 Walnut St., Des Moines, 515/243-1161, hotelfortdesmoines.com, from $99 Food Centro1003 Locust St., Des Moines, 515/248-1780, pizza from $12 Activities Matchstick Marvels319 Second St., Gladbrook, 641/473-2410, $3 Day 3: Des Moines toCenterville Shawnda decides that we'll be wearing our T-shirts today. Every trip, Shawnda gets shirts made for us, sometimes in dubious taste. Mine says CORN DOG and hers says CORN MUFFIN. We drive south to the National Balloon Museum. The memorabilia really make you want to ride in a balloon, or at least see one inflated. That said, we get a kick out of the photos of the two dogs who have acted as president of the Balloons Over Iowa club. In adorable Pella, the Dutch influence has been cultivated into a tourist attraction: The town is home to a windmill, a tulip festival, and Dutch bakeries. I had read about the hot bologna sandwich at In't Velds Meat Market--five slices of what looks like kielbasa on a bun--and it's magnificent. We walk it off around the square. The day is a beautiful one, and bells from somewhere are ringing loudly. Fairfield is a different story. There are signs of life--a gallery façade painted purple and royal blue and pink; Petit Paris, an "Organic French Restaurant"; a store called Health & Wholeness; a yarn shop selling natural and organic fibers. Some of this (and especially the Indian restaurants) is a result of the Maharishi University of Management, outside downtown. And yet except for Revelations, a welcoming café and bookstore, the town is empty, like a Mexican village during siesta. We drive away the afternoon, admiring town squares and courthouses, playing the water-tower game. On Route 1--a pretty, hilly road--I briefly fantasize about owning a brick house that we pass. We run out of energy in Centerville. At the Double R Dairy Bar, we sit next to a fidgety Little Leaguer and eat fast food. When I check into the Super 8, I'm still carrying my malted shake. "You picked a good place to eat!" says the clerk. The motel is next to a movie theater. There are only two other people watchingThe Break-Up, so I joke to Shawnda that we're on a double date--even though it's the worst date movie sinceKramer vs. Kramer. But she's infatuated with the kid at the snack bar. "Small corn, butter," he barked to his assistant with the seriousness one devotes to one's first job. Lodging Super 81021 N. 18th St. (Hwy. 5 N.), Centerville, 641/856-8888, super8.com, from $55 Food In't Velds Meat Market820 Main St., Pella, 641/628-3440, hot bologna sandwich $2 Double R Dairy Bar715 E. Maple St., Centerville, 641/856-6838 Activities National Balloon Museum1601 N. Jefferson Way, Indianola, 515/961-3714, $2 Shopping Revelations112 N. Main St., Fairfield, 641/472-6733 Day 4: Centerville to Omaha Our route, as highlighted on our map, looks like a scraggly bow on an Iowa-shaped present--it's all loops with Des Moines as the knot. Route 65 has just enough weirdness to keep us diverted, including birdhouse condominiums--long winter?--and scarecrows that resemble workers in haz-mat suits. We're heading back to Des Moines because I will not leave Iowa without trying Smitty's king tenderloin. It's formidable: a pork cutlet, flattened to 10 inches in diameter and then breaded, fried, and served on a hamburger bun. It looks like a UFO but could only have come from America. I enjoyed the movie ofThe Bridges of Madison County, yet I've never understood the appeal of a covered bridge. We go to the first one we see signs for (Cedar Covered Bridge, the one on the cover of the novel) and yes, it'd make an excellent jigsaw-puzzle image. Shawnda notices a bird's nest in the rafters, and I giggle at the dirty graffiti. Mike W. evidently loves a part of his anatomy just as much as he loves Deb Z. Shawnda and I grew up in Orange County, Calif., where John Wayne lived in his later years; they even named the airport after him. So we can't pass up the Birthplace of John Wayne, in Winterset. It's a house, not much more. We most enjoy learning that as a kid walking to school, Wayne was asked by the workers that he'd pass what his name was (Marion); he wouldn't answer. They knew Wayne's dog was Duke, so they called the dog Little Duke and nicknamed him Big Duke. The gift shop has a life-size photo cutout of the Duke that, if it weren't our last day, I would buy and arrange in the backseat of our rented convertible. Outside the courthouse, a sign says that prisoners' graffiti, discovered when a room inside was remodeled, is being exhibited. We take the elevator to the third floor, where another sign says the weed commissioner (huh?) is one direction and the graffiti--old jail is another. Prisoners drew all over the wall--faces, lines of poetry, thoughts, names. One scribble says ERNEST JACKSOON SALT AND BATTERY. We drive a long stretch of Route 44, the Western Skies Scenic Byway, over hills dotted with hay bales and purple wildflowers. People tend to think Iowa is entirely flat, cornfield after cornfield, but it's not at all. At a Days Inn--we chose it because it's near the Council Bluffs Drive-In theater--I flip through the tourist guide, looking for a restaurant. You know you're desperate for fresh vegetables when "health food" sounds appetizing. We sit on the patio at McFoster's Natural Kind Cafe in Omaha, and it feels so right to eat non-fried food that I don't care if my tuna curry sandwich is made with something called Vegenaise. Then we go to the drive-in (which has also since closed, the way drive-ins tend to do). It's only my second drive-in ever, and I'm so excited by the prospect that I agree to seeCarswhile sitting in a car, even after we sat in a car all day. We arrive early, and it's like a John Mellencamp song. Kids are playing catch in front of the screen, Eddie Money's "Baby Hold On" is blaring out of the speakers, and the sunset is so pretty it looks like God has taken up airbrushing. Just when the quintessential midsummer night can't get any better, a big bug drifts down between us. We start to spaz out, and it lights up. I'm in Iowa, and it's heaven. Lodging Days Inn Council Bluffs-Lake Manawa3208 S. Seventh St., Council Bluffs, 712/366-9699, from $56 Food Smitty's1401 SW Army Post Rd., Des Moines, 515/287-4742, king tenderloin $5.75 McFoster's Natural Kind Cafe302 S. 38th St., Omaha, Nebr., 402/345-7477, tuna curry sandwich $9 Activities Birthplace of John Wayne216 S. Second St., Winterset, 515/462-1044, $4 Finding Your Way We flew into Omaha because it was easier to get to than Des Moines, and cheaper. That said, the majority of Iowa's top attractions seem to be on the opposite, or eastern, side of the state. At the Omaha airport, the only company renting a convertible--an essential on our road trips-- was Budget Rent A Car. Generally, it's hard to get lost in Iowa, as roads are well marked. If you're looking for a town, head to the nearest water tower. (Note: When you're searching for the airport in Omaha, look for signs for "Eppley Airfield" instead of "airport.")

Editor Erik Torkells ...Fellow Newsweek employee in the bungalow next door, the Bahamas Art Director Amy Helin ...Former Gap colleague at a street parade, Z?rich Managing Editor Marilyn Holstein ...Coworker on a Mediterranean cruise, Seven Seas Navigator Picture Editor Amy Lundeen ...Friend from college on a street corner, Berlin Senior Editor Laurie Kuntz ...High school friend at the Prado Museum, Madrid Senior Editor Brad Tuttle ...Hometown friend at St. Mark's Basilica, Venice, and on a flight from Denver Assistant Managing Editor Suzy Walrath ...Best friend from first grade at Harrods, London Associate Editor Laura MacNeil ...College acquaintance in the bathroom of a vegetarian restaurant, Budapest Associate Art Director Sarah Irick ...Fellow Wichitans staying in the next room, Sayulita, Mexico Associate Art Director Tamara Powell Surtees ...Ex-crush at The Calgary Stampede, Calgary, Alberta Editorial Production Manager Lauren Feuer ...Middle school crush at a resort in Montego Bay, Jamaica Senior Picture Editor Rebecca Simpson ...High school friend at the Statue of Liberty, New York Associate Picture Editor Lauren Keenan ...Former neighbor surfing in Sayulita, Mexico Copy Editor Thomas Berger ...Friend of a friend at the castle in Heidelberg Assistant Editor David LaHuta ...Childhood babysitter near the Brandenburg Gate, Berlin Assistant Editor Naomi Lindt ...College roommate at an Internet café, Paris Assistant Editor Lindsey Ramsey ...High school biology teacher at Margaritaville, Orlando Editorial Assistant Sarah McCormick ...Friend from New York City in Haight-Ashbury, San Francisco Art Assistant Jacky Carter ...Two high school classmates (separately) at H&M, Chicago Intern Josh May ...College classmate at Absolut Icebar, Stockholm Intern Silvia Usle ...Ex buying lettuce at a grocery store, Paris General Manager Online Michelle Preli ...High school classmate from Kentucky on the subway, New York City Managing Editor Online Suzanne McElfresh ...Famous jazz musician neighbor at a café, Berlin Senior Editor Online Sean O'Neill ...High school history teacher at the Tenochtitlán ruins, Mexico Editor Online Kate Appleton ...Friend of a friend at El San Juan Hotel & Casino, Puerto Rico Senior Producer Online Anthony Falcone ...College friend and her new baby in Walt Disney World, Orlando Producer Online Ruthie Kaposi ...A carbon copy of my mother-in-law, Vancouver Web Developer Jeff Beam ...Grade school friend on the Champs-Élysées, Paris