Whoa, tiger. Take those skates off. Put those brakes on.
Slow down!
Whistle-stop tours don’t get you anywhere but worn out and ticked off. There’s something to be said for radically simplifying your itinerary. Base yourself in just one or two places - hang out, find a favourite place to buy fruit and have coffee, get to know the locals, live a little.
The movement is growing - more and more people are seeing the sense of getting off the carousel, listening to the senses again, savouring, taking time. Find a rental instead of a hotel, get off planes and cut down your carbon footprint, or just take a good, long quaff of the roses.
What’s your travelling speed?

Cyclone Nargis, which tore across southern Myanmar’s delta region last week and left (per a UN estimate) one million in need of aid, could hardly have found a nation less prepared to deal with such a disaster. Even before the storm, groups like Refugees International, were calling the situation a ‘humanitarian crisis.’ Of the world’s poorest 50 nations, Myanmar is last in terms of per-person aid - about US$3 compared to an average of US$58.

The political obstacle courses that followed have been heart-breaking to see. While bodies floated in rivers and flooded fields, the Myanmar generals denied visas from aid groups (a week later only 34 of 100 UN applicants had been approved, according to a New York Times article), the frustrated UN briefly discontinued support, and the first Red Cross boat carrying aid into the wrecked delta area sank. The first US planes carrying supplies - made available the day after the storm (far quicker time than during the Katrina fiasco, it must be said) - were only allowed to land in Yangon a week later, after a previously scheduled referendum vote took place on Saturday. Apparently absent from the discussions as potential mediators were Asean or China, both of whom have favourable relationships with the government.

Fortunately many makeshift ‘DIY’ groups of Yangon locals didn’t wait for outside help. A local friend in Yangon emailed me a few days after the cyclone, saying ‘I and everyone in Yangon are not yet recovered from the shock. We were very scared.’ Yet the same day, he had formed in informal group with his co-workers to get basics like rice and clean water to those who need it, quick. ‘We formed a small team and help the poor area in town as much as we can, but 90% of the infrastructure is down. Roads are still blocked with big trees and lamp-posts and wire cables and big signboards.’

He’s not alone in the efforts. He says he’s seen other spontaneously assembled groups helping, including local NGOs and religious groups. Each day they’re able to reach farther into the delta, distributing what they can: ‘clean water, glucose powder and tables, biscuits, t-shirts, local sarongs and blankets, plastic sheets.’

He explains, ‘We’ve gradually reached more remote areas as far as Latputta by boat, and Bogale, another seriously hit area.’ (This is the same village that, according to a New York Times article Tuesday, that the military wouldn’t allow Doctors Without Borders’ officials there to hand out supplies or visit the hospital.)

Many aid organisations are accepting donations, including Medicins Sans Frontier and Australian Aid International.

- Robert Reid (author Myanmar Lonely Planet guide)

At least 63 people have been killed and more than 150 wounded after a series of eight bomb blasts tore through the historic old town of the Indian city of Jaipur, capital of Rajasthan state, at around 7.15pm local time Tuesday night. The bombs went off near several heavily touristed sites, including the Hawa Mahal (Palace of the Winds) and Johri Market.

Officials have imposed a citywide curfew in response to the bombings.

Known as the ‘pink city’ for its ochre-pink forts, palaces and city walls, Jaipur is an extremely popular tourist stop about 260km from Delhi.

See what travellers are saying on the India branch of the Thorn Tree forum or head to the BBC for the latest news and to view the devastation in pictures.

Some pets are so worldly they have their own pet passport. Others are lucky to just get a ride around town on the back of their owner’s bike. Here Lonely Planet dog-lovers give us the low down on taking your canine companion for a ride:

• Convert a little kid tote into a doggy tote
• Dog bike trailers
• A milk crate with a wire cage over the top, sitting on a small trailer thingy
• Milk crate + chicken wire + broom handle + skateboard = pet transport system
• Get a sturdy back basket and a car harness from the pet shop. Attach the ’seatbelt’ bit to the bottom of the bike basket. Put a blanket down and strap her in - it works really well because the harness means they can sit/stand up but can’t move far enough to get over the edge of the basket.

Got any other ways to get around town with the pooch?

The overnight train from Hanoi to the Vietnam-China border town of Lao Cai gets in at 4:30am. It’s a befuddling time, and it’s easy to lose your bearings - especially if you’re heading to Sapa. Stay firm, bargain hard, and insist on your destination, though, and you’ll end up at the hill station (albeit after more than an hour in a bumpy, crowded minivan).

It’s worth it. Sapa is magical: cool, misty and magnificent. The first day we arrived was so foggy that we couldn’t see across the street. That didn’t stop us from doing a day walk to nearby Cat Cat village, which rewarded us with close-up views of waterfalls and drastically improved lung capacities.

But it wasn’t until the next day that we could see what we had been missing: endless, sweeping valley views. Paddies terraced across the hillsides, right down to the rivers. Heavily forested mountains, their tops always invisible. We were looking forward to our 10km walk through the villages dotting the valley floor.

That’s when it got interesting. The Sapa region is home to several minority groups, most noticeably the Black Hmong, the Red Dzao and the Dzai groups. All three have their own distinct, mutually incomprehensible languages (Vietnamese is the language of commerce). Most members of these groups live a subsistence lifestyle, growing crops and occasionally selling the surplus for agricultural supplies and equipment.

As we walked, several Black Hmong women gathered around us, peppering us with questions and telling us stories of their lives. Their command of English, French and Chinese was admirable. They talked with us all the way along the mountainside. And when we crossed from their village to the next, the solicitations began. “Buy from me?” several asked, displaying beautifully crafted blankets, dubiously put-together bracelets, and cheap trinkets. We smiled and declined politely, but they persisted. “We walk all the way with you, we talk with you, and now you don’t buy from us?”

We felt torn. We really didn’t want anything. Our packs were full enough for our liking, and we had resolved to buy nothing we didn’t need on this trip. We hadn’t asked the women to walk with us, and we felt vaguely upset that their friendliness may only have been a commercial front (and yes, we knew that was a possibility from the beginning).

But some of the goods they were selling were of high quality. The prices were reasonable. They weren’t begging or asking for handouts - they were supplementing their meager incomes with a potential windfall from tourism. And they had definitely enhanced our experience of the valley. Would it be so bad to exchange some money for their handicrafts, despite the fact that we didn’t want them?

What would you have done?

- Vivek Wagle

In this age of food snobbery, airline food is looked down upon as the toothless, penniless guttersnipe of the gourmet world. Many travellers abhor it, although there are a number (me included) who actually dig the stuff - the anticipation, the surprise/shock/horror, the little containers, the comedy bread bun that is impossible to bite. I had my first crab stick on a flight to Hawaii as a fourteen-year-old and it felt like the height of glamour.

If you have an in-flight food fascination, airlinemeals.net covers all bases, even taking you behind the scenes of airline catering or showing you what the crew eats. Travellers the world over send in photos of their meals. Get depressed by a miserly vegan breakfast! Long for the campy delights TWA were serving up in the 50s! Mourn the loss of a post-dinner Baileys on Swiss Air!

So what’s been your worst in-flight meal?

The United Nations says that up to 1.5 million people may have been affected by Cyclone Nargis, which devastated the Irrawaddy Delta region of Myanmar (Burma) on Saturday. Burmese state media say 22,980 people were killed, but there are fears the figure could rise to 100,000. The regions of Irrawaddy, Yangon, Bago, Karen and Mon have been declared disaster zones.

The Thorn Tree community are sharing news, information, updates, personal accounts and reports. For the latest, click here.

Many aid organisations are accepting donations, including Medicins Sans Frontier and Australian Aid International.

From inside Myanmar, BBC reporter Paul Danahar describes the misery and fear in the delta region.

Every city has spaces that confront us with events of the past. Buildings, squares and monuments bear witness to people’s struggles and their scars record significant episodes in history. They’re the silent players in the city narrative.

It’s easy to miss these often subtle references to the past. Take Barcelona’s Plaza Sant Felip Neri. At first glance, it’s a tranquil, unassuming square. With its shade and fountain, it’s a romantic spot offering respite from the relentless buzz of La Rambla. Go in closer, though, and you’ll get a glimpse of the stories preserved in its walls. The facade of the plaza’s baroque church is pockmarked from the shrapnel of a bomb dropped during the Spanish Civil War. Forty-two people taking refuge inside were killed in the blast, most of them children. The plaza was also the site of civil-war executions. In some way, it serves as an unofficial memorial to the war’s victims.

Tell us about the scarred places you’ve come across, places that tell you something of a city’s history.

- Eli Arduca

If you’re planning a trip to New York and have a desire to uncover the city’s best street art or are off to Berlin to shop for spring, check out Gridskipper, an award-winning travel blog that combs the web for the latest happenings in the coolest cities around the globe. The self-confessed urban fanatics behind the venture publish daily posts covering a vast range of themes under the broad umbrella of ‘urban lifestyle’.

Some great recent posts include: indie pop/rock summer concerts in Paris, an overview of London’s best design shops and a guide to drinking in Berlin’s Friedrichshain.

It’s by far and away one of my favourite travel blogs. What’s yours?

The sun doesn’t rise until 6:30, but our tuk-tuk driver insists that we have to meet before 5am. We exchange doubtful glances. However, everyone in Siem Reap has been honest and friendly, so we agree.

The next morning, we stumble downstairs from our hotel (the Ancient Angkor Guesthouse - a surprisingly awesome-value find) and he’s not there. But his brother is, and he’s been waiting since 4:30.

Bleary-eyed, we’re not ready for the long, dusty road. We’re not the only ones: during the 7km ride from town, we’re passed by scores of taxis and other tuk-tuks. And our guy was right about the early start, as lashings of color start to streak through the sky. We arrive at Angkor Wat and dutifully join the shuffle of tourists walking the long causeway. There are hundreds of people around.

We look up, and the reflections of water-lilies shimmer on the moat surrounding the temple complex. Through the morning haze, the central tower looms in the distance. The chanting of monks wafts over on the breeze.

We enter through the outer walls, and everyone stops. The crowd fans out onto the grassy fields and huddles up on the steps of the ancient library, west of the towers. They all have their cameras out, ready to catch the first, magical moment of the sun peeking out from behind the tower.

But it’s a cloudy day. The colors have already disappeared from the sky, and all is grey. We exchange glances and move on. The crowd is now behind us, and we enter the stone corridors of the inner temple. Our footsteps ring out in the dark hallways. We can barely make out the delicate bas-relief carvings on the wall, but we can take our time. No one is around to hurry us on. We’re in a ghost of a place.

We pass through the temple center and come out the other side. There is only forest here, with a dirt trail heading east. We come out the building as the towers begin to light up. Fifty paces onward, and we turn to face the structure with the sun at our backs. We share the sunrise with only the giant naga sculptures and the chirping cicadas.

- Vivek Wagle, site editor