“One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.” – Luciano Pavarotti
Southern Spain is one of the best places to slow down, take a deep breathe, relax, and savor the flavors of Spanish cuisine. The natural beauty, the music, and, above all, the delicious food served during long meals, all but force you to appreciate your surroundings and your company. Tapas, in my opinion, are the Spanish version of what I termed at the beginning of this year as stopping to smell the cannoli. Leading up to the trip, I don’t know whether I was more excited to see the Alhambra, which I’ve been longing to visit since studying it’s architecture in my junior year of college, or to sit down for long meals of tapas with Ibérico ham and Manchego cheese washed down with a few glasses of cava. Now that the trip is over, I still can’t decide which was more enjoyable. Visiting the Alhambra and seeing a flamenco show were unforgettable experiences, but sitting down to long, slow meals in the Spanish style with S and his lovely parents, P and R, was a true gift. Increasingly tight pants were an unfortunate side effect, but overall a small price to pay. Here are some of my favorite meals from Southern Spain:
It may take me a few thousand hours to comb through the photos from the week that S and I traveled around Southern Spain with his wonderful parents, R and P. While in the early stages of that combing, I couldn’t wait to share a few of my favorite photos with you. As I write this, I’m sitting in my apartment, hiding from what is November in Germany and feeling its gray skies and dry frigid air sucking what little tan I had from my skin. Wow, that is sad. Luckily, I have the promise of a trip home for Thanksgiving to see family and friends and the fantasy-come-reality that is the German Christmas Market when we return. I also have my memories from an unforgettable trip south and I’ve been trying to determine my favorite. Was it dining on tapas in Ronda with the restaurant patio to ourselves and a view of the Puente Nuevo lit up at night? Was it the bartender in Nerja singing along to “Material Girl” while S and I sipped Rioja and snacked on freshly cut ham and Manchego? Was it the guitar player at El Molino? Seriously, is there anything cooler than Spanish guitar? My favorite moment could easily be our morning touring, admiring, and gawking at the beauty of the Alhambra. It could also easily be the flamenco show that we saw in the old gypsy caves of the Albayzin area, or the second flamenco show that we saw in Grenada’s city center, or our three pans of paella, or our five bowls of gazpacho, or our ten plates of Iberico ham, or our countless pitchers of sangria. We ate a lot. Overall, and as sappy as it sounds, I have to say that my favorite part of the trip was the time spent with S, P, and R (with the Alhambra in second place and all of the foods a close third)!
Before last month, the last time that my sister, E, and I traveled together for a week was two years ago, when we spent four days in Paris and three days in Toulouse, for the wedding of my lovely friends, P and A. We ate escargot, gazed at masterpieces of the Impressionists, sipped champagne, ate (really) stinky cheese, and danced into the wee hours celebrating the newlyweds in an old French chateau just outside of Toulouse. So, when E arrived in Germany last month, we had a pretty high bar to meet and exceed if we wanted to keep our sister vacation experience trending upward. With Mainz as our home base, we set out on a series of day trips and one over-night to explore the area around my new hometown. This trip was filled with dirndl shopping, huge mugs of beer, a lot of driving on the autobahn, a lot of wine, some actual wine-making (the grape-picking part), and some more beautifully stinky, French cheese.
In 2014, the words “bachelor/bachelorette party” tend to conjure up images of The Hangover or Bridesmaids. Maybe that stuff happens in real life. Maybe it doesn’t. As to the specifics of what went down at my best friend K’s recent bachelorette party in Charleston, my lips are sealed.
One of my favorite travel blogs, The Lazy Travelers, is written by two fun and adventurous women, The Wino and The Romantic, who also love a relaxing day, taking in the scenery of a new place with a nice glass red wine and some local eats. I am thrilled to announce that they published an interview with me in their Jetsetters series, and even more thrilled (in all my super dorkiness) that they think we could be friends! Look, Mom, I’m making friends!
If you’re looking for some inspiring travel and fashion tips, funny anecdotes, and beautiful photos, be sure to swing by The Lazy Travelers or check out my interview with them here!
For just about the entire year of 1994, my sister and I refused to go to sleep each night until our Dad told us a story, all of which had to be set in the town of Lillehammer, Norway during the Olympics, and the main characters had to be named after us (but really they had to be us). As Jennifer Weiner wrote in a letter to Salon, “Everyone wants to believe he or she is the hero of his or her own story.” In our case, we forced our dad to make us the heroes. As kids (and now), we were obsessed with a capital “O” with the Olympics. In my little 9-year-old heart, I truly believed I would grow up to be Kim Zemescal and win gold medals all day long. Unfortunately, my mom made me quit gymnastics after my friend Lindsey fell off the high-bar and broke her arm. Thanks a lot, Lindsey. Anyway, back to Norway.
I cannot begin to imagine the feelings of confusion and fear that I’d feel after having gone to bed, just like any other night, only to wake up and discover that overnight I had been separated from my family, friends, job, and certain freedoms by a fence, later to become a series of walls, manned by armed guards and other devices to prevent escape. And yet, this is exactly what happened to those living in East Berlin one night in August of 1961. Before visiting Berlin, it was easy for me to think of the Wall as just another pop-culture reference in a U2 or Ramones song. However, the hardship, despair, and desperation caused by the GDR’s Berlin Wall, or, as it was officially known, the “Anti-Fascist Protection Rampart,” instantly registered as much more when I saw the Bernauer Straße memorial to those who died attempting to escape East Berlin, heard stories of people driving trucks into the wall and digging fifty meter tunnels under it, and observed the lasting disparity between West Berlin and it’s formerly Soviet-controlled counterpart. It was just twenty-five years ago that these two halves were divided, with West Berlin an island cut-off from Soviet-controlled East Germany, and East Berlin cut-off from just about everything. The city suffered such oppression and violence and today, it continues to actively recover, rebuild, and reconnect (they’re still working to connect the water pipes and electricity of East and West Berlin). In response to it’s troubled past and a consequence of it’s current rehabilitation and renaissance, the people of Berlin have taken on a somewhat defiantly proud attitude toward their city. In an interview in 2004, the city’s mayor, Klaus Wowereit, gave his famous quote that is now the war cry of the gritty city’s young, proud, and cheeky artists and professionals: “Berlin is arm, aber sexy.” (“Berlin is poor, but sexy.”)