As for the few things I did bring, I question why I even bothered. Q-tips? A pocket mirror? A Swiss Army knife? Oh, naive girl.
Girl Alone Walks the Camino (Part 5) Palas de Rei
Girl Alone Walks the Camino (Part 4) Morgade to Portomarin
The promise of food, bathrooms or rest does not exist in winter. Fellow pilgrims: plan accordingly. And by all means, get used to peeing in the great outdoors.
Girl Alone Walks the Camino Santiago (Part 3) Sarria to Morgade
There’s something mysterious about an empty, well-worn path. I actually kept looking over my shoulder thinking someone was there. Nope. Just the ghosts of hundreds of thousands who came before me.
Girl Alone Walks the Camino De Santiago (Part 2)
At this time in my life, when there was less technology and wisdom to rely on, I believed in god. And so I begged him, with tears in my eyes and the very real fear of being lost past dark, which road do I take…
Girl Alone Walks the Camino De Santiago (Part 1)
I guess some people think you're not a "true pilgrim" unless you are martyring yourself under the weight of a 50-pound bag. I actually martyred myself twice under the 50-extra pounds I gained with each pregnancy...
Nebraska Avenue
By the time Kate could remember, he’d already begun drinking gin and tonics and selling copy machines, and sometimes going out on deep sea fishing boats when business was slow. And on days when he was out of work, and her mother couldn’t take it anymore, she’d say, “Everyone out!”
When a travel junkie can’t get her fix
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.
Scottsdale, Arizona
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 →
The Ksar Char Bagh
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.
Atlas Mountains, Imlil
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.
Marrakech, the Red City
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.
Ancient Fes
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.
Chefchaouen
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.
Tangier
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.
Tarifa
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.
The Manzanares
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.
Stories of Madrid, Tarifa and Barcelona
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 →
The perfect meal
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...
Making peace with Madrid; exploring the barrios
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 →
35 years of journal writing
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.
Rail trip across France, Spain
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.
24 hours in Paris
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.
Home
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.
Raising the dead
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.
Sexy Sedona
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 →
Philadelphia is for food & love
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 →
Sexy Montreal-Updated
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 →
Madrid al cielo
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 →
Food & Drink in Spain
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 →
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