The convict skills of wild animals are highly underestimated. Criticize me for my ridiculousness all you want, but those furry little faces aren't so innocent. I am convinced that a step by step guide to warding off wild animals is really what every traveler needs. 

After a disappointing afternoon traversing the rock of Gibraltar without a single monkey spotting, I was ready to give up hope. Just as I turned to exit the park as the gates to the roads began to close for the day, I heard a loud "screeech!" Yards away, a dozen monkeys popped out of the bushes to pay me a surprise visit.  

Let me back up for a minute. I am terrified of monkeys. I have seen far too many Fatal Attraction episodes that end with monkeys relieving their human owners of a limb or two. In my book, this is a valid reason to steer clear of the creatures. Either way, when I first spotted my new furry friends, I was so excited about the prospect of getting an epic monkey profile picture that I threw my purse and jacket on the ground and ran toward the animals. (Readers, please learn from my experience.)

My friend started snapping pictures of me as I approached the first monkey. Initially terrified, I kept my distance. When he didn't immediately maul me I gained courage and crept closer and closer. Suddenly, the creature leapt from the bush, grabbed my purse, and began rummaging through it. He threw the water bottle and bag of mixed nuts aside—obviously this ape had a better target. Instead, he went for my passport. Panic overcame me. I had two options: rip the purse from the monkey's grasp and run, or follow the ape to his den, make friends with the monkey family, and peacefully negotiate my beloved belongings back. Frightening images of being stranded in Gibraltar for weeks until I could get a new passport filled my mind. Neither plan sounded like a good option. 

During my bout of terror, I remembered an email I recently received. It was one of those large-colored-font-forwarded messages with a hodgepodge of email addresses pasted at the top. I had wanted to delete it, but something about the "Tips for Solo Female Travelers" headline captivated me. If I had not read it, coincidence would have found me in the worst case scenario stranded thousands of miles from home. The one interesting thing I learned was if someone asks for your purse, you should throw it as far as you can and run in the opposite direction. 

Reality suddenly became crystal clear. I was being mugged by a monkey!

Instinctively, I grabbed the nearest rock and tossed it to the side of the ape, hoping to provide an alluring alternative to my goods. Success! The monkey chased the rock, allowing me to snatch my bag. No prolonged stay in Gibraltar for me!

In the end, I did get a few epic Facebook pictures, and made it out of Gibraltar rabies-free. In any case, the monkey phobia won't be going away any time soon.

Check out some of our favorite places to celebrate Christmas and New Year's Eve, both near and far. These videos and book excerpts will get you into the spirit faster than you can say "Auld Lang Syne."

Continued…

I've always thought of myself as a reasonably big Beatles fan. When I was growing up, they were the only pop music my mother would agree to listen to, so we wore their greatest hits albums pretty thin through many evenings cooking dinner together. I was always on their side in the inevitable Stones vs. Beatles debates (though I do admit that the intro to Gimme Shelter is one of my favorite musical moments). I knew the rudiments of their history, at least that Ringo wasn't the original drummer.

Continued…

I've recently left London to research Cambridge for a few days. My time here, though extremely pleasant, has been a little disconcerting for a number of reasons, including, but not limited to, the following:

Continued…

Through some incredibly handy family connections (probably the first time I've ever been able to say that), I manage to score myself a private tour of Westminster Abbey. I arranged to attend Evensong and then meet my contact, a sacrist at the Abbey, after the service. Things got off to a slightly rocky start when I turned up for church. Knowing that many travelers (cough *and Let's Go researchers* cough) like to check out famous churches during service times to avoid paying admission fees, the Abbey posts staff members to make sure that anyone who comes in for Evensong stays for Evensong. I run up, a little late, in my usual work outfit of flip flops and backpack (though I did at least put on a dress that day). The marshall at the entrance gives me a slightly skeptical look. "Are you here for evensong, young lady?" I explained I was, that I was a guest of one of the priests, and that there was supposed to be a seat reserved for me "in Quire." The skeptical look deepened, "Alright, go in and tell that to one of my colleagues down the way." This interaction was repeated three or four times, until finally I was told to stand aside from the trickle of visitors coming in for the service. I loitered, feeling super awkward while all the tourists thought "clearly she's one of us, come on, she has a BACKPACK." Finally, just when I had been handed off to yet another staff member who seemed about to banish me to the plastic chairs of the tourist quarter, my sacrist appeared. He greeted me enthusiastically, told my current handler to deposit me in one of the fancy pews of the choir, and scurried off to vestry. I confess I looked a little bit smug when my legitimacy was at last confirmed.

Continued…

Terms of endearment with which London bartenders have addressed me:

Continued…

There's a running joke in the Let's Go office that some day I'll write Let's Ho: Prostitution Around the World. Given that my previous Research Writer stints have involved Thailand (including a 5-day visit to Pattaya, renowned for its prevalence of sex workers) and Amsterdam, I've become a touch accustomed to the presence of flagrant prostitution in the cities I'm researching. Ignoring my personal views on the ethics of sex work, let's just say that it's been a little weird that so far I hadn't seen a single trace of anything XXX in London (barring a few bars that turned out to be strip clubs).

Continued…