I try to make it back to New York at least once a year, usually for events, this time my epic High School reunion. I often travel solo but this time my companion was my nine-year-old. There was so much I wanted to share with him and narrowing down our plans was painful…and true to how I roll, the best things happened serendipitously.

We walked by the West 4th Street Courts just a block from my mom’s apartment, a famous spot where Lew Alcindor played before becoming the great Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, an iconic public court where legions of other basketball greats have shot hoops over the years. Tucked in the the back are handball courts — I had forgotten about the New York obsession with the game. A tiny pinky ball, perhaps a glove and a wall, that’s all that’s needed. The sport, now called “American Handball”, is a big draw for beach goers, but as I traveled the city I was surprised to see so many courts in every borough. My son was fascinated and wanted to play. A player at W. 4 Street let him on the court to give it a try and he was smitten. The guy even gave him a ball — I LOVE NY.

He promptly lost it and I promised to buy him a ball and play with him, as I have fond memories of playing at Jones Beach, Florida and around town as a kid. In fact, we used to just play against the wall next to my mom’s apartment, which is now a a deluxe condo.

We didn’t seem to pass any sporting goods stores and the Woolworths and Lamstons of my youth have been taken over by Duane Reade drugstores and Chase Bank buildings. So the next day, as we came up from the subway, I decided, on a whim, to see if the local newsstand next to the courts might, per chance, sell them. I’m not sure what inspired me to think that was possible, but for two-dollars, the kid got a handball and thus the highlight of his trip began. We checked out a few courts and he carried his ball with him each day.

A visit to Coney Island with the cousins and a glorious walk on the boardwalk found this handball hotspot in Brighton Beach, perfect with the pink flowers framing the gritty urban court. I reveled in the moment remembering all those years ago, a time when NYC was hurting, crime was out of control and yet people congregated on stoops, listened to music together on boom boxes and the hardcore handball fanatics were part of the pulse of the city.

We stopped at Tatiana’s, a Russian cafe in Brighton Beach. The Nathans of my youth was still recovering from Hurricane Sandy, but after losing everything in the storm, Tatiana’s was up and running again. It felt like we were on the Black Sea or somewhere in Europe, not much English spoken and many families out for a Sunday stroll. We parked ourselves in the cafe and ordered strudel and tea and studied the crowd. We were clearly outsiders, despite my part Russian heritage, but once the piping hot tea and scrumptious cherry strudel arrived I was in heaven. The less than stellar Soviet style service was part of the experience. A walk down the High Street of Surf Avenue unveiled more treasures, a terrific little shop where I bought Armenian sour cherry jam, Hungarian salami and the Russian bread I love. On the street, a vendor sold what looked like Russian pirozhki, but when I tried to confirm the name I was met with much sourness. We bought cabbage, pork, spinach and cherry; it’s great how the sweet and savory co-mingle. They were a tad greasy, but for $1.50 each was a meal.

We climbed onto the elevated subway track laden with our purchases as the stunning spring light made the grimiest steel sparkle. The ride back was quick and edifying. I was captivated by the multi-ethnic faces and so many languages filling the car. It made me want to move back to New York.

I, for one, can never get enough of winter fun. Living in San Francisco, a trip to the mountains is easy but requires some planning and often ice skating indoors has to satisfy my cravings.

In Ottawa, Ontario, workers and students can ice-skate commute (skammute?) on the Rideau Canal Skateway. The 4.8-mile-long, 26-foot-wide frozen canal is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  Visitors can rent skates, and warm up spots, cafes and other amenities dot the route. It is of course a popular tourist attraction and the centerpiece of Winterlude, a three-week-long winter festival including ice sculptures, skate clinics and Snowflake Kingdom, a snowy playground wonderland.

The world’s largest naturally frozen ice rink has been open for more than 40 years. The average length of the skating season is 50 days. The Rideau Canal skate season typically runs from December to mid March. Some years it is extended to as much as 95 days and you can check ice conditions daily. Moms pushing strollers mingle with commuters and school kids, making rush hour a busy affair on the ice. It gets cold in Ottawa and many insist a packet of tissues is mandatory to fend off the runny noses. Some prefer hockey skates, others speed skates or figure skates. Canadians are of course big ice enthusiasts!

Ottawa, Canada’s capital, is home to some great museums, imposing structures and fine restaurants welcoming an international diplomatic core. If you’re like me and love the idea of a long outdoor skate, Ottawa might be calling.

A recent New York Times Fashion & Style article explores the trajectory of the sport given the cultural craze. From Staten Island to San Francisco, sales of kid-size recurve bows have more than quadrupled this year!

Whether you have a Robin Hood fan, a small Cossack (a kid into ancient weaponry) or you just love fun, free, urban family activities, you’ve got to check out the Golden Gate Park Archery Range in San Francisco when you’re visiting the city. It’s a beautiful and well-maintained piece of park real estate, near the beach. It’s easy to park and accessible by public transportation. It’s always open for folks with their own archery equipment. If you’re looking to try it out as an activity, you can swing by the nearby Archery Pro Shop, where you can sign up for lessons, rent or buy bows or investigate other equipment. You can also buy bows and arrows on-line.

Many folks first try out the sport at summer camp. My kids got a taste of it at Camp Mather, the San Francisco family camp, located near Yosemite, that is beloved by many city families. The setup at Mather was low-tech and we had a blast. We invested in bows and arrows and started learning about the sport.

The next summer on a visit to my in-laws’ home in a somewhat rural area on four acres on Washington State’s Olympic Peninsula, we built our own archery range. We bought a bale of hay for $8 at a local Feed Store and my kids made a target out of a giant poster board.

You do need space and oversight. Archers need to be at least 5-6 years old or have exceptional dexterity and listening skills. The range etiquette is vital, as safety is paramount.

On a recent, glorious, fall afternoon, with perfect pumpkin light, we made a family outing to the range in Golden Gate Park. There were quite a few free targets. Three other parties were there and the mood was genial. One guy handed out cards for another range down the coast near Pacifica, wanting to make sure we all knew about it (archery buffs are quite passionate about their sport).

There are often Community College and other classes held at ranges, so check out local options. We spent about an hour; all shot a few rounds, and the kids left with smiles across their faces and rosy cheeks.

I have so many summer memories of family boardwalk strolls, noshing on knishes in Brighton Beach, soft serve, sand between the toes and sweat mixed with sunscreen dripping in my eyes.

The boardwalks of my childhood were the bar, the town square, and the place where young and old, beach bunnies and schmata wearing grannies, could congregate. There were rides, games, sweet and savory treats and no sense of time. AND yes, I always got splinters, because I never wore my flip-flops (as my parents suggested) and sadly, more often than not, I returned home with a sunburn that I regret today.

It is that intangible sense of freedom, community and unvarnished leisure time that the boardwalk connotes that will be resurrected, despite rising seas and superstorms!

There are the famous routes to Coit Tower where one can catch a glimpse of the Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, and the now famous Mosaic Stairs in Golden Gate Heights. Although not as crowded as say, Lombard (the crookedest street in the west), these top stairwalks can be bustling.

Instead, grab Adah Bakalinsky’s stairwalk bible, now in it’s 20th edition, and explore some of the more quirky areas. The book offers up the popular routes, but many of the stairways highlighted are tranquil spots, used only by locals and known only to a handful of people. Most walks take no more than an hour and string a number of staircases in a neighborhood together, with informative descriptions of the history, architecture and flora and fauna of the area.

Together, families can explore the nooks and crannies of this great city. My family often decides on a route and picks a restaurant or café in the area to make our ultimate destination. Avid hikers, we love to take our boys on treks outside the city, often inspiring them with treats or the prospect of counting banana slugs. Some days however, we just can’t get out of town, but want an outdoor activity that feels like a hike. Then we reach for our stairwalk book and pack a few snacks and layers of clothing.

One time it was dumping rain and each with an umbrella in tow, we geared ourselves up for the urban adventure. With each stairwalk we discover unique and unusual surprises, including hummingbirds, caterpillars, amanita muscaria mushrooms, blackberries, glorious flowers in bloom, secret cottages with magical gardens, never-before-seen views, maniacal exercisers and even a friendly kitty who followed us for blocks.

Most of these walks can be accessed by MUNI or BART (public transportation) and all can be great activities for out of town guests and spry grandparents.  Many walks include benches or vista spots where one can catch one’s breath. These stairwalks are particularly great options when kids are portable, either in backpacks or frontal carriers. Take photos of your stairwalk and add them to a Flickr pool.

Here are a few of our recent favorites:

Telegraph Hill: The popular Filbert and Greenwich Street staircases leading up to Coit Tower.

Highlights: Gardens full of roses and irises and trees filled with the loud and colorful wild parrots and views of the Bay Bridge. At the top visit Coit Tower!

Begin the walk at: (down) Telegraph Hill Blvd and either Filbert or Greenwich streets; (up) Sansome Street at Filbert or Greenwich.

Upper Market: The Saturn and Vulcan stairways lead through the residential neighborhood above the Castro district.

Highlights: Quirky cottages where residents share a stairway with no street access and views of the city streets below. Look for a giant statue-less pedestal.

Begin walk at: Levant Street near Lower Terrace.

Mt. Davidson: Covered with eucalyptus forest, Mt. Davidson is the highest point in San Francisco at 927 feet and the site of the controversial mammoth Easter cross. In 1997, the cross was purchased for $26,000 by The Council of Armenian American Organizations of Northern California, which placed a bronze plaque at the base memorializing the victims of the 1915 Armenian genocide. Sadly, there are often beer bottles and trash around the place since certain locals take advantage of the isolated park.

Highlights: Views of the city, a real sense of wilderness, blackberry bushes, wildflowers and the cross at the top! It can be muddy in the rainy season, so wear good hiking shoes.

Begin walk at: The bus stop (at the junction of Dalewood and Lansdale) and head up the unsigned but obvious trail.

Granted, Americans, in general, partake in way less “holiday time” than our European counterparts, but is it really true that smartphones and instant gratification through technology are wiping out such a colorful and beloved tradition?

On a recent trip to Bodie State Historic Park, my camera battery died. Such a picturesque place, I was kicking myself, but luckily I had gotten a few shots and still had my non-smartphone, phone camera.

We went into the gift shop and postcards were 45 cents. I decided to get a few, I usually have my kids send them to grandparents and perhaps their own friends, part writing exercise, part ritual. This time I wanted to send one to a family whose dog, (named Bodie, after a ’90s trip together to Bodie) had just passed away. We had created a laminated memorial to leave at the cemetery as a tribute. I thought it would be nice to also send them a postcard.

I have sent postcards from all over the world. I know my dad has an entire file folder of them and I’m sure my mom has them scattered around her apartment, hidden on bookshelves and in piles. Pre-World Wide Web, in the era of aerogrammes (remember those?) postcards were a quick and easy way to say, “I’m thinking of you” or “Here I am in the fabulous place,” sharing a bit about your adventures.

It was always a fun task to buy stamps in unusual places, mail them in foreign mail boxes and know that your missives were en-route to folks you care about. It seems like Facebook updates are often boastful, unedited and on occasion, jealousy provoking. Not always, not so much with close buddies, but sometimes peeking into someone’s life (who is at best tangential to yours) seems a bit voyeuristic.

I’m certainly guilty, I love posting pics, but I worry that we are sacrificing a quality experience, kind of like what the slow food movement is to fast food. I certainly like to see who goes where and what they choose to photograph, but I write about travel and really am genuinely interested in any destination. I just worry that postcards will disappear, and with them, not only a terrific art form and a document of places and time, but also a cherished travel ritual.

If you’re looking for a getaway, outdoor fun, sun, and maybe some wine tasting, the small town of Los Gatos is a great choice. Set in the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains, this affluent hamlet, with a Victorian downtown, is a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of urban living. As you drive into town, you pass Netflix headquarters, and you realize, this is perhaps where the 1% live, a notion that was confirmed at the stylish Purple Onion Café, where at 10 a.m., the place was hopping with expensively clad moms chatting and nibbling, post workout. The Illy coffee and yummy breakfast items made with cage-free eggs, local produce, and freshly baked whole-grain breads were tantalizing.

For lunch, a traditional Irish pub with Americanized pub grub, was a more down home option. C.B. Hannegan’s was bustling with business folks and families; the outdoor garden was so pleasant and portions big enough to share. The beer choices were impressive and International, with 15 on draught.

Another must dine spot, great if you’re on your way to Santa Cruz, is The Cats Restaurant and Tavern, just off highway 17. Originally a pit stop on the old stage line, the Cats Roadhouse was once a welcome spot for horse-drawn lumber wagons on their way to San Jose, as well as a rowdy social club for locals.  In the Roaring 20s, the Cats was one of the area’s most notorious speakeasies and bordellos! Renovated and reopened in 2008, the menu still features BBQ favorites and is certainly a crowd pleaser after a day at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk or hiking the mountains!

Camping options abound. Two of my favorites are Big Basin Redwoods State Park and Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park. It can get cold under the redwoods, so pack accordingly!

Finally, if you want to splurge, a stay at the Mediterranean boutique hotel and spa, Hotel Los Gatos, is quite a treat. The pool is small but with mosaic tiles and an ample hot tub, a perfect spot early morning, midday or at night for a dip and soak. The hotel has a Moorish feel mixed with California Mission, and the rooms were luxurious but in a cozy way.

Mediterranean food is one of my favorite cuisines, and I have to say since I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area nearly 20 years ago I have been on a constant hunt for Greek Cuisine from high-end to gyros. Dio Deka, fine Hellenic cuisine, really lived up to its Michelin Star hype. The food, ambiance, presentation and service were really top notch, from the marinated kalamata olives in chili and rosemary to the spanikopita, pork ribs and these delectable crispy potatoes with smoked roe.

The wine list was overwhelming, but we chose a crisp New Zealand white and sat out, talking and savoring the special tastes, as if we were on the island of Santorini or an Athens plaza. I took a close friend to celebrate a recent triumph, but I could imagine taking my two boys there, all rumpled in their “fancy” clothes, perhaps for a special occasion. Luckily there are plenty of tapas-like options I think many older kids would appreciate, if your budget allows.

All in all, if you’re looking for a staycation in the Bay Area, a romantic getaway, a taste of “Peninsula living” or an overnight splurge, the combination of great food and wine, ample hiking and biking spots and wineries galore, make a trip to Los Gatos, the Cat’s Meow!

My friend doesn’t do anything unless it is full throttle, so it didn’t surprise me that he had a hankering for extreme speed. It did, however, surprise me when he said his whole body was sore after the less than 2 minute, nearly $150 (Canadian Dollar) ride down the Olympic track. Kitted out, he was placed in the back seat and braced himself to fly down the mountain.

I am a bit of an Olympic geek so I had lots of questions, not least of which was about the poor Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili who was killed during a training run while reportedly going nearly 150 MPH. I knew he was killed on that very same run and I had watched the tragedy unfold.

The Whistler Sliding Center hosted all the sliding events in the 2010 Games and is now a premiere world track. I know the luge and skeleton are much more dangerous than bobsled because the sleds are less protective, but that accident was so haunting. Often, ex-football players or track stars are inspired to be the anchor of the team on bobsled. Their speed helps a team get a fast start, but even those guys and gals train intensely for the sport. I was relieved to hear that the tourist sleds have higher walls and that they start after the treacherous turn where the accident happened. Although lightning fast, tourist runs are significantly slower than Olympic runs.

With a professional pilot and plenty of gear and preparation, tourists can ride the wind and ice at 125 MPH. My friend lived to tell the tale and has the picture to prove it! As for the Winter Olympics, next up are the 2014 Winter Games in Sochi, Russia.

We are headed to a house, inaccessible by road in winter. Set on 100 acres of land, the generosity of the owners allows us to live out my alpine fantasies.  We snowshoe or ski one mile into the house, carrying backpacks and pulling a sled full of all our gear, food and an occasional small child.

As I write, a few loaves of Swedish bread are in the oven baking for the trip. Thoughts of chopping down our own Christmas tree and frying latkes for Chanukah at altitude dance in my head.

My mind wanders to a book I just read my youngest son. Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder, of Little House on the Prairie fame, is a classic. Even though I read it as a child, and was a big fan of the TV show in my youth, reading it aloud to my son was inspiring all over again. To live off the land, reap what you sow, eat with the seasons and really earn your keep has a lot of appeal these days. Even though we’re going off the grid, it will be far less arduous than what the Ingalls and Wilder families experienced more than 150 years ago.

If, like me, you are taken with the books and history of the time, you can visit the Wilder Homestead (boyhood home of Almanzo, Laura’s future husband) in Malone, NY, near the Canadian border. One winter scene, from the book, sticks in my mind… as the young boy, his father and two hired men cut ice from the frozen lake to store and keep food fresh for the year. They literally cut thick blocks of ice from the surface of the lake and haul them back to the shed on sleds. Almanzo falls in accidentally and narrowly escapes death.

The blizzards described in the book series sound so epic. As I read this book I wondered if winters in the Upstate region are still as harsh, given climate change. This is a photo of pond hockey in the Lake Placid region.

Recent articles in the New York Times speak of fir and spruce trees dying out in the Catskills, apple orchard varieties diminished and less productive dairy farms in the region.

The Adirondacks — host to two winter Olympics — in the future, may not be the winter paradise they once were, as snow and ice have become less intense during the winter months. Lake Champlain, a popular vacation spot that divides New York and Vermont, used to freeze over completely every winter. Now, some years, milder winters keep it unfrozen in the middle. Flooding from the August tropical storm Irene was a harbinger of things to come.

Despite all of this depressing information, and news that our destination in the Sierras has very little snow as of today, makes me wistful… but come hell or high water, I plan to live out my winter wonderland fantasy nonetheless.

We drove through Yosemite a few weekends ago. It was packed with summer travelers and waterfall gawkers. The major falls are glorious, and fuller than they have been in years. New, smaller falls have even appeared much to the delight of park goers.

As we drove through the park, out past Mono Lake, we were stunned by the high water levels and snowy peaks in early July. We laughed, thinking that we could even cross-country ski in some spots above 7000 feet.

Record snowfalls this winter and heavy unseasonable rain in summer have made conditions epic for nature lovers but also hazardous.

Yosemite is drawing crowds, and visitors to the park should exercise caution while viewing the many falls and swollen creeks and rivers. Since June, there have been at least two people confirmed dead and two missing and presumed dead. The park has banned water rafting on the Merced River until the flows subside to their normal levels.

My son and a group of friends made the trek to Wapama Falls, a wonderful hike which wraps around the Hetch Hetchy reservoir. The photos were astounding, but just days later a Doctor and a friend, both experienced backpackers, were swept away by the torrents when crossing a small footbridge.  Sobering for the folks who took my son, who in hindsight, were fearful of the awesome cascade.

As we made our way back to the Sierras, we stayed at a friend’s house near Kirkwood Ski Resort. I took a short walk, alone, down to the “creek,” heretofore a tiny trickle, where as toddlers, my kids frolicked. At nearly 8,000 feet in elevation, the mule ears were just sprouting and snow patches still remained in early July. I decided to cross the creek and make a circle. Quickly I aborted my attempt. This repeated several times as the current was just too treacherous. I realized I was on my own and if swept away, it would not be a good scene.  I finally found a reasonable crossing point, and with numb legs and feet, made my way to the other side. Not only is the water higher, but it felt colder.

A recent article by Jane Brody in the New York Times Science section offers simple, but useful tips for both beach and mountain water fun. So get out and enjoy the majesty, but respect the elements and have caution!