The meadows are green, the tulips are in full flower and it's a lovely time of year to explore central Europe. While I've got the shutter for the Gadling Travel Instagram feed, you'll see pictures of the Rhine, probably more than a few cows, several plates of pastries (the Austrians are famous for that) and no shortage of gorgeous landscape. You'll see a lot of small town stuff – I'll be spending most of my time admiring what's left of the snow covering the tops of the surrounding alpine peaks, but if time permits, you might see a little Graz and Vienna as well. Austria was my former temporary home during my expat days and while there's plenty to see, there's also family to visit.

Springtime along the rivers of Europe. The Rhine, the Moselle, the Enns, the Danube ... let's hope the weather holds and these palace skies stay full of sunshine.

When we ran out of money, we were on a beach in Corfu. My boyfriend trawled the construction sites until he found a job hauling cement. I checked in at restaurants and hotels, but failed to turn anything up. I gave up after about a week; there was no work to be had. I spent the days reading on the beach. My boyfriend would come back to our campsite in the shell of an unfinished holiday cottage with his hands raw. We would buy bread and cheese and olives with the cash he'd been paid on that day. This went on for about two weeks, and when the gypsies started giving us food we knew it was over.

We swallowed our pride, called our parents and asked them to wire us money so we could get off the island and go somewhere that we could find work. We ended up farming in Israel where we got housing and three squares and a paltry salary that we saved because there was little to spend it on and beer was very cheap.

Today, there's a better way than sucking it up and calling Mom and Dad. You can avoid the dirt and damage of manual labor. You need an Internet connection, maybe a blog and nerve. You'll need to offer up something as incentive – a $5 donation receives a postcard from your exotic locale, a $10 donation gets a download code for a copy of your, as of yet unwritten, essay about your travels, a $25 donation gets a print of a photo you took that you think is pretty good – come on, it's totally National Geographic quality, right? Plus, anyone who donates get this pleasure, no, let's be realistic, honor, of supporting your travels. Open a Kickstarter fund for your travels and ask total strangers to pay for them. You're doing them a favor, really.

My parents did not react with the gratitude I was hoping for when I called from my crash pad on a London sofa, broke again, to ask for airfare and spending money. The roommates in the London flat where I awaited the arrival of wired funds weren't thrilled either. They were gracious, they knew I was on hard times, but they weren't so into my before its time "Occupy the Living Room" movement. Nobody saw the benefit in their role of making it possible for me continue my travels abroad, no matter how many postcards and photos and essay length letters I sent home, or how many dishes I washed, or how many rounds I pitched in for when it was my turn to buy.

It is easy, without historical context, to mistake our own travels – and the documentation thereof – as some kind of bold act. We think ourselves grand for going around the world and we think our stories worthy of sharing merely because we can. But 150 years ago, this was just not the case. Travel was a big deal, women traveling an even bigger deal and women traveling solo, if not quite unheard of, certainly a long way from standard practice.

It was the Victorian age. Men – mostly men – traveled by steamship and rail. As for documenting said travels, that was the territory of men as well. Women were as unwelcome in the newsroom as they were in the pages those newsrooms produced, relegated to fashion and housekeeping and maybe the arts.

In to this landscape two bold women took it upon themselves to race one another around the world. One, an elegant and cultured arts writer – Elizabeth Bisland – the other, a scrappy go getter news hound in a checkered jacket – Nellie Bly.

"Eighty Days" is the story of their adventure not just to succeed as great travelers, but to become well known and respected journalists as well. Off they go, propelled by their own will, two very different women on mirrored journeys. Nellie Bly invented the trip; Elizabeth Bisland was convinced to participate. Ms. Bisland packed for propriety and style, Ms. Bly anticipated the carry-on only traveler by over a century by insisting on taking nothing more than she could manage herself, lest she be delayed while waiting for her luggage.

They were both determined, bold, articulate and so brave. Looking back through history only magnifies the unusual nature of their travels.

The book is a terrific read, full of compelling characters – newspaper men, suitors, handsome sailors, exotic foreigners, missed communication, hunger and frustration – in short, all the stuff that makes up a good travel story. And it's impossible not to admire these exceptional women, racing against time and against the standards of the day. Matthew Goodmans brings a heroic Nellie Bly to life in the first pages and Elizabeth Bisland's grace and unexpected nerve are made real next. It's impossible to decide whom you want to win. And finally, when one of the women does win, it doesn't matter – the adventure has been completely worth it.

Even though the seasons are shifting to spring, I'm still dressing in wool. I've said before that I'm crazy for the newer merinos; they're not just for long underwear anymore. And because they're made of natural fibers, they breath well making them surprisingly versatile for those transitional seasons. It's a little counter-intuitive to think that wool is okay in warmer temps, but the lighter fabrics work well for winter, spring and fall, and I've worn my merino skirt in summer, too, because it's got so little weight to it.

For my spring travels, I'm packing the M2 dress by Nau. It's a drape-y, flattering boat neck, three quarter sleeve piece that shakes out nicely after it's been crumpled up in your bag. You can dress it up with whatever shiny extras your packing – a pashmina (because you always have one with you, right?), or some sparkly flats, or a pair of cute tights, or just wear it with sandals and go casual. A pleat at the hip gives it a little bit of swish, so even though it's "just" a black dress, it's got a bit of style.

The M2 is the medium weight merino so it provides some warmth if you're wearing it in chillier places (or overly air-conditioned restaurants. I throw all my merino in the washing machine, have done for years, and it's washed up just fine – but it's best to keep it out of the dryer, it lasts longer that way and has less risk of shrinking.

I'm a lazy dresser and I don't like to pack single use only items. I'm also a sucker for anything that makes me look stylish but feels like something I could wear on a long-haul flight. You might be thinking it's a little late in the season for buying wool, but depending on where your travels take you, it might not be, plus, off-season pricing applies to clothing, too. Get your little black three-season dress directly from Nau; it's on sale as I type this.

[Photo: Nau]

Many years ago, I was living in a very small town in central Austria. It was spring, and for those of my (personally tenuous) faith, this means Passover. Passover is my favorite Jewish holiday. It combines good food and a story that I interpret as being about travel at its heart. It's the annual retelling of the story of Exodus – the flight of the Jews from their oppression by Egyptian pharaohs, their miraculous crossing of the Red Sea and their entry into the Holy Land. It's fun, too; there are games and songs and plenty of wine. it's the only holiday I'll go out of my way to celebrate. In this small town in Austria, I was devastated with the possibility that there would be no Seder. There were, after all, no Jews nearby. In a move that was either hopeful or desperate, I emailed the nearest synagogue, approximately 125 miles away in Graz, explained my situation and asked if they were hosting a community Seder. "I apologize for not writing in German, but do feel free to respond in German; I can read well enough; I just can't write."

The answer I received was in English from an American expat who'd grown up not far from where I lived as a small child. "Yes, we have a community Seder, but why don't you just come to my house? Really, I mean it, you would be very welcome."

George Bradshaw was responsible for the development of a series of railway timetables that were an icon of British Victorian travel – they're mentioned by Sherlock Holmes, Phileas Fogg and there was a 1876 music hall song called "Bradshaw's Guide."

I reached my destination, and was going to alight
When she placed her hand upon my arm, and said with much affright
'Oh Dear Sir, don't leave me, all alone to ride
What shall I do without you and the Bradshaw's Guide.'

If you're fond of Baedeker's Guides – the essential red, leather-bound book that's also an icon of the Grand Tour years of travel – you may also find the Bradshaw appealing. You probably want a vintage one, sold for a pretty penny on eBay, perhaps, but for a mere tenner, you can pick up a reissue of "Bradshaw's Illustrated Hand Book to London and its Environs."

A new version of this isn't going to have the magical ticket stubs or marked pages that one that's been used in the late 1800s would have, but it does have the pretty little engravings of London's monuments. It's got the cramped, hard to read type of 1800s guidebooks, exhaustive details and information that has zero value for today's traveler – though it would be an amusing exercise to travel with this book as a guide.

In Part I of "Packing for Extreme Cold Travel," I covered the basic stuff you'll pack for your adventures in crazy cold climates. If you do any winter sports at all, you'll likely have a lot of this stuff – it's your basic ski vacation gear.

In this second part, I cover the serious expedition stuff – there's not much of it, but it makes all the difference between freezing your backside off (just about literally) and having a great time in the minus temperatures.

When I arrived in the far north, it was -40F. Bitter cold. My fingers ached by the time I got to the car, just a hundred yards away.

An epic parka: Mine was a rental provided by Whitehorse expedition gear rental company. I have little use for something this intense in the moderate climates of the Pacific Northwest. But in the deep, deep cold of a Yukon winter, my loaner Canada Goose Resolute Parka was – well, I kind of fell in love with it. I've lived in apartments with less storage space than this parka. It took me 45 minutes to "move out" of it after spending a very warm ten days bundled up against the weather.

It's a lot of work wearing a parka like this – it's bulky, and I lost my glove liners inside the coat (I'm not kidding) to one of the many pockets. If I did not put my phone or pocket camera in the same place, it could take me ten minutes of exploration to find where, exactly, I'd stowed them.

But it was -40. That's cold. So I appreciated the fleece-lined pockets, the secure zipper flaps, the slightly long sleeves with ribbed cuffs that I could tuck my hands up into. I liked the coyote fur lined hood – and I could never justify wearing a scrap of fur at home. I'm short, so the coat was almost below my knees, but I wasn't sorry for the extra length when the wind was blowing. There are mesh pockets designed to hold warmer packs, I used them to store my phone because the battery got zapped of power easily in the cold. And I loved the bright red in the snow; you could locate me in just short of whiteout conditions.

You can spend a pile on a parka like this – over $700.00. Unless you're planning to do repeated trips in this kind of crazy weather, there's almost no reason to buy one, but an expedition outfitter will hook you up and that's worth the money for the warmth.

"Seriously, you're going to the Yukon in February? Won't it be dark all the time? Won't you FREEZE? I mean, literally FREEZE? You can die if you're left outside for, like three minutes, right?"

"Yes, seriously. I am going to the Yukon in February. I'm super curious about what it is like to be in a place that far north in the winter. And also, I will be wearing a giant parka. I'll have loaner gear."

Sometimes, adventure travel means getting off the grid and diving into the backcountry. Other times, it simply means going to a destination when most don't. A place like the Yukon – or anywhere in the far northern climates in February is an adventure indeed, and it's totally doable if you pack the right gear.

For starters, you're going to have to check a bag.

This isn't easy for me; I'm a pathologically light traveler. But when your kit requires things like big boots or snow pants, you need more space. Suck it up. Pay the checked bag fee and revel in the fact that you're not dragging a wheelie bag around the airport for a change. You totally have a free hand for coffee now. Crazy, right?

Sometimes, when I look at the price tag on a piece of gear, I think, "Really? It's made in some factory in Asia, there's not that much material to it, and really? REALLY?" Other times, I'm lucky to get to try out something super nice and my reaction is different. It's more along the lines of, "Yeah, it's expensive and I totally get why. And I really don't want to send it back now that I've seen it."

Bergan's of Norway's Osen jacket fits that category. The wool and down, water resistant jacket (available in both a men's and a women's cut) is one of the nicest things to pass through my hands for some time.

This isn't your typical "poof" layer – it's a combination of a wool and polyester blend on the sleeves, shoulders and waist with a down torso and collar. It looks great – the women's cut makes sense; it's got a bit of shape to it and the bright, contrasting zipper pulls are in a cool neon green on the jacket's dark blue. Add a rain shell to this and you are set for just about any weather.

There's a certain chunky euro-style of shoe I've become fond of. They're popular in the alpine nations and Germany, and sometimes in Holland. They're a little orthopedic looking, but with some flair, the kind of thing you might see worn by someone who's trying to spark up their hospital scrubs. Think Birkenstocks, the closed toe variety, or your classic Dutch clog. Here's the thing – shoes like this were made for walking in, for spending hours on your feet in, and that makes them work well for travelers.

Alegria shoes have all those qualities; they make shoes that are designed to be worn all day while keeping your feet comfortable. They have a thick spongy but not too soft sole that's got a little bit of a rock too it, similar to that used by the Masai balance shoes or Sketcher's fitness shoe, but not as extreme. They have that slightly duck web shape to the footbed that's mirrors the shape of your foot. And they come in a whole array of styles from very plain to somewhat outrageous.