Love . travel . write . eat
It’s taken this global epidemic to make me realize just how much of a travel addict I am. I mean, like, full on travel junkie, with a huge dose of attachment disorder. Like, the thought of sitting in a Paris cafe, sipping a cafe au lait, turns me on like mad.
Friday Yesterday I spontaneously booked a flight for Doug and I to Phoenix. With all that’s been happening with K___ I just realized life is unexpected and short. Take the trip. Buy the shoes. Spend the money. So...here we are, on my official birthday, at the gate, after getting here rather late, sipping coffee to... Continue Reading →
But I feel as though I have lost an important connection to the energy of Marrakech by being here. I’ve sold out to luxury. I am no longer traveling. Rather, I am entombed in rich idleness.
The drive back seems shorter and at parts, we all sit quiet and enjoy the peaceful yellows of the summer tall grasses of the countryside, the blues of the wide open sky, and an almost empty road.
It was a voiceless, dark walk back...the deeper you twist and turn into the residential quarters of the medina, the quieter it gets. The evening Adhan can be heard muffled in the distance. The stars overhead are desert stars of the nearby Sahara, vain and bright, having no rivals from light pollution on the ground. They are stars that shine so brightly they pop, like a sky filled with glittering supernovae.
Possibly the most well-educated and historically detailed of all our guides, he was also the most pretentious, eventually claiming, after a point of feeling quite comfortable with us, that he was a direct descendant of Mohammed.
As he guided us around, speaking English, he smoked a cigarette and pointed to various streets and said, “Take a photo!” He did it so often and the streets all started to look alike that I began to pretend I was taking photos just to appease him.
I paid homage today to Anthony Bourdain at the Tingis Cafe in the Petit Socco in Tangier. It's the same place Paul Bowles and Mahbret and other writers sat to drink mint tea and smoke kif.
We circled around a few streets. The cafes and terraces were packed with locals and tourists. But, we could barely keep our eyes open. We hauled our tired bodies back up two flights and crashed.
I wander down a street where a gypsy woman in black sings a cante jondo, tremulous and pulsating, from a terraza draped in laundry three flights up.
Thursday, Jul 21, 2016, 11:36 PM Calle Mayor, 38, Madrid, Madrid, Spain 84°F Mostly Clear 11:37pm. Madrid time. I'm so grateful to be here, but so tired and already experiencing dizziness, headache, and exhaustion. It's strange being here with just Julien and I. I like it, and I am possibly more relaxed. But enough with... Continue Reading →
I assure you this dish was so divine it threw me into a state of temporary nirvana so profound and so celestial that I became speechless for moments after I had first tasted it...
Like a defiant, self-absorbed bad boy who refuses to follow the rules, Madrid has always seemed to be wrapped up in a sort of Bacchian narcissism that's not entirely interested in you unless you go where he wants to go and do what he wants to do. And that typically means partying all night, until... Continue Reading →
If I slept with you, you're in these journals. If I partied with you, you're in these journals. If I loved you, you're in these journals. If I worked with you and found you any bit entertaining, you're in these journals. If I cried on your shoulder, or begged you to stay, or hated your fucking guts, you're in these journals.
When you travel as a family through Europe, it's almost impossible to find big rooms with a separate living area. Many times what they offer are "quadruple rooms," which is basically two double beds smushed together in one small room. I hate to be a whiny, priviledged American girl, but this won't fly with my family-- when you're traveling together for 18 days straight, you need your space. So, all of the rooms I booked either had connecting rooms, a separate bedroom area or, we simply rented two rooms.
If you see one city in Europe in your lifetime, let it be Paris. It's one of those places that you can continue to discover and rediscover for years. Ten days, two weeks, a month is often not enough. But, if you only have 24 hours for the City of Lights the below itinerary might be just enough to give you a decent feel for what Paris has to offer.
I read a lot of Henry Miller, got laid, dropped out of my French classes at the Alliance Francaise and existed in such a state of poverty that my friend Karen and I would steal food from her stepdad's house during the day, and then at night, we'd flirt with rich exchange students at the Violon Dingue trying to get them to buy us free drinks.
I cried this morning. No. I sobbed.
Pernille sent me an ordinary email this morning regarding D and I being picked up at the airport upon our arrival in Amsterdam. Within the email it listed the ways in which the others in our group would be coming into the city. We would be coming in from Philadelphia. C would be flying in from London. And E would be taking the train in from Germany, I believe, and didn't need any help getting to the hotel. It was this last bit that reminded me of trains.
So, my lovely D is turning 40 (welcome to my world) and as a little gift, I've booked a long weekend in Sedona at the Enchantment Resort and Mi Amo Spa. As with every trip we take, I try to make a spiritual connection to place. In Florida, for example, I had a past life... Continue Reading →
It's been a while since I've written, with all the changes that have occurred recently and all, I simply haven't had the time or the inclination to sit down and write. I have also been putting a lot more focus on my other blogs, and so this one has somewhat fallen by the wayside. But... Continue Reading →
The last time I was in Montreal I was 20. I went to visit five of my favorite guy friends whom I'd met the previous summer in Wildwood working at the T-shirt shops that lined the boardwalk-- they were guys who lived in Montreal, but worked during the summer at the Jersey shore. When they... Continue Reading →
Look up, man. Not down. A man with blood on his knuckles and his eyes on some weird kind of crack is riding the Metro. There is a homeless woman swathed in black who asks for centimes. A Peruvian immigrant down the calle Monte Perdido yells at her two sons, making them cry; neither of her children are wearing... Continue Reading →
I talked to my sister-in-law (who's from Spain) and she gave me these wonderful tips on what to eat and drink while in the south of Spain. Instead of writing it all out and putting effort into this blog, I'm just going to list stuff as she explained it. I want to clarify that this... Continue Reading →
