One of the ironies of travel writing is that as you’re slaving over your words — slaving, I tell you!– you’re usually not in as glamorous a setting as the ones you’re writing about.
I wrote this feature for Worth while I was in Lake Placid over President’s Day weekend. Not so shabby, except for that the temperature was literally struggling to reach -1 degree Fahrenheit, and that was during daylight hours.
I wrapped up the story on a (very ordinary) Amtrak train heading back to New York City. It was so cold that the tracks kept freezing, the train kept stopping, and by the way, the car I was in had no heat. It was hard to decide whether it was pleasant or cruel to revisit my trips to Petit St. Vincent, Tasmania (pictured above), Southern Africa and Venice under the circumstances.