le weekend à Paris

For some reason, I've been struggling to write this post. What can I possibly say about a weekend in Paris that hasn't been said a million times before? How in the world do I begin to describe the beauty of my favorite city, the familiarity with which I walked the streets even though I'd only been there once before, the sheer awe and surprise of turning the corner into the windowed room of Sainte-Chapelle, the comfort of indulging in meals so rich, savory, and buttery that they should have been deemed pure gluttony, the cosmopolitan independence I wore as I sauntered down the Champs-Elysee with shopping bag in hand, or the thrill of being asked for directions in French and then answering correctly, also in French???

The answer is, I can't. Tomes have been written about the joie de vivre one discovers somewhere deep in the winds of Montmartre, and though I often like to don a large bowtie and handlebar mustache and nibble on some madeleines, Proust I am not. I was in Paris for nearly three full days, but I felt as though I were there for months. That's probably due to the fact that we trekked to every sight and overlook on both sides of the Seine, but I like to think the elixirs of rosé we slowly sipped over a late afternoon lunch on the Ile Sainte-Louis had something to do with it.

Thanks to some serendipitous scheduling and a cheap inter-continental flight, I was able to tack a trip to Paris onto the end of my week in Ireland and meet two of my New York besties for a much-needed girl's weekend. Kristen was finishing up her own family vacation in the British Isles and Claire was just beginning a three month audition tour for European operas, so it was only natural that we set our monthly wine and cheese night a bit closer to the source of said wine and cheese. With the click of a few buttons and even fewer emails, we reserved an Airbnb, kind of coordinated our arrival times, and agreed to meet on a random street in the middle of the city. And somehow it all worked out perfectly.

We sat in front of Notre Dame and contemplated it's history and architecture. I led us all on a walking tour to find Satie's house. We napped in front of the Eiffel tower, and then helped Kristen complete a life-long goal of ascending to the top where were witness to one proposal, five very drunk Russians, and three zillion selfie sticks. Claire sketched in the Rodin garden while I practiced my high school French, and then we sat on the banks of the Seine and ate gelato even though it's an Italian dessert. With blue skies and perfect temperatures for all three days, the only way our weekend could have been more clichéd is if we had put on berets to meet Alexander Petrovsky in a smoky café.

I was not ready to leave Paris. While I fully understand that visiting a city for a few days is entirely different from actually living in a city, I felt such a sense of "livability" that I very nearly started researching European work visas. But since two weeks is more than enough time for my unemployed self to be spending on an opulent vacation, I dutifully made my way to the airport via the Metro I had gotten so good at using. But not before taking an extra lap around the block and ordering one last pain au chocolate, making sure to converse with the shopkeeper entirely in French.

If you go: Paris is one of the most-visited destinations in the world and I only spent a few days there, so I obviously don't think I'm an authority on the subject. That's not going to stop me from giving my opinion though!
Museums to visit: Unless you have an entire day to kill, skip the Louvre. It's too big and crowded and overwhelming for a quick trip, and you'll regret it if you do the two-hour highlights tour. Instead, get your Impressionist fix at the Musée d'Orsay and grab a breath of fresh air in the surprisingly affordable gardens outside the Rodin Museum.
Churches to see: The options are dizzying, so stick to the biggies - Notre-Dame because it really is that impressive in person, Sacré Coeur because the views from the plaza are stunning, and Sainte-Chapelle because I've never before gasped out loud at a church's beauty.
Restaurants to try: We splurged on two big meals (and by "splurge" I mean spending around $30 for one meal) - the touristy yet tasty La Brasserie de l'Isle Sainte-Louis, and the sublime Jeanne B in Montmartre. I also ate approximately four pain au chocolates each day and have no regrets.
On the Eiffel Tower: Go to the top if you must, but know that a.) it's pricy, b.) the wait to get tickets is nearly an hour unless you buy them ahead of time c.) it's INCREDIBLY crowded and claustrophobic at the top, almost to a prohibitory level - and I normally do just fine in large crowds.
Some more good advice: Get yourself a guidebook! I highly, highly recommend Rick Steve's Paris - his walking tours are incomparable, and the description of each sight and location is infused with such fascinating facts that you'll consider yourself a history buff by the end of your trip. A little information never hurt anyone, and knowing the importance of the church or monument you're visiting makes the experience that much richer.
Where to stay: We needed to save our pennies for more pastries, so we booked ourselves an Airbnb property near the Luxembourg Gardens. It was cute, clean, and in a great area - I'd stay there again in a heartbeat. Are you planning a trip yourself? Use this link to save yourself $20 on your first Airbnb rental!
I was neither sponsored nor compensated for my travels, I simply share my thoughts and opinions because they might help you out on your next trip to Paris!

Driving the Dingle Peninsula

Our third stop in Ireland was a tiny town on the west coast called Dingle. Our second stop in Ireland was a tiny town in the middle of the country called Kilkenny, but other than a castle, a church, and the most amazing outdoor pool I've ever been in (and one I couldn't get pictures of), there wasn't much to this town. A worthwhile stop, mind you, because it broke up the drive from Dublin to Dingle and allowed us to see the interior of the country, but not worth it's own post. 

Dingle, on the other hand, is worth it's own post, postcard, calendar, magazine, and full-size coffee table book. When you say "Ireland" and everyone else says "oh it's so pretty there!", they're talking about the Dingle Peninsula. Soaring vistas over ragged rocks. Rugged hilltops that lead to even more breathtaking views. Winding roads with more than glimpses of the sea. Bright blue skies above and crashing waves below. It was truly one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

We made the bold and correct decision to rent a car for our time outside of Dublin. It was not without it's hassles - insurance was not covered through any of our credit cards and therefore an extra expense, we opted to not get the 35€/day GPS but instead spent part of one morning getting a much cheaper SIM card to use in the iPad, and then there was the whole driving on the left thing - but with a deep and focused concentration (and one small fight), J and I managed to drive ourselves all over Ireland and back. He drove, I screamed instructions navigated from the iPad, and we did it all while suffering only a few minor heart attacks and one cow-induced, Irish traffic jam.

Driving in from the East, we followed the suggestion of someone at our previous hotel and rode the Conor Pass into Dingle. The roads were a bit steep and narrow (read: I thought we were going to fall into the ocean when we had to back up 20 yards to let a truck pass us), but it was worth the anxiety. We fortuitously had the clearest and brightest days during our entire time in Dingle, and the views on Connor's Pass provided a wonderful welcome to the city. 

There isn't a whole lot to do in Dingle itself, but that by no means should deter you from visiting this delightful little city. There are some excursions you can take (boat trips out to the Blasket Islands, speed boats around the harbor, and there was something about a dolphin that we never quite figured out), but we chose to slow ourselves way down and simply stroll the town and get to know Dingle via it's food and drink. That led to more chowders, my new favorite cider, and quiet nights outside our B&B simply staring at the sky and wondering how I could get New York to dim it's lights for just 10 minutes one clear night so that we could see what the heck is up there.

We stayed in Dingle for two nights, which was just the right amount of time for us, for it gave us one full day where we didn't have to make our way to a new city. Instead, got up relatively early (for us) in an attempt to beat the tour busses and Drove The Dingle Peninsula, an activity worthy of the hyperbolic capitalization I just assigned.

Since we followed the Rick Steves' Dingle Driving Tour (his caps) to a T, I won't bore you with the step-by-step. That being said, if you do ever find yourself in Dingle, I highly recommend getting a copy of Rick Steves Ireland (or just borrowing it from the library, as my unemployed self did). It's full of more interesting information than you could ever process, and shockingly detailed. His driving tours (which include Dingle, the Ring of Kerry, and a handful of others) are measured quite literally by the kilometer and allow you to have a much more informed day of sightseeing. Please note that I am in no way affiliated with Rick Steves, I'm just a giant fangirl and could talk for hours about his guide books ;)

Anyway, back to the Dingle Peninsula. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves, but the entire thing took about five hours (we stopped at nearly all the points of interest and grabbed a snack along the way as well), which left us ample time for a quick nap at the B&B before enjoying our last big, potato-filled dinner in Dingle. It's true what they say about the Irish and their love of potatoes - almost every dish I ordered came with a side of chips, and on that last night in Dingle I ordered a Seafood Pie which was basically seafood chowder over a bed of mashed potatoes that was topped with a puff pastry - and a basket of chips on the side. Not that I was mad about any of it. I just made it a priority to do a little carb-detox the second I got back to the states.

If you go: Renting a car will allow you the most freedom in following your own schedule and interests, rather than those of a tour group. Be aware that Ireland drives on the left side of the road and that the majority of available car rentals are manual - be prepared to pay a premium if you require an automatic. / We stayed at the delightful Tower View B&B, which is located an easy 10-minute walk from the center of Dingle. There is a working farm on the property and Mary, the owner of the B&B, allows kids and kids-at-heart to help feed the animals after breakfast. / You'd be hard pressed to find a bad meal in Dingle, but some of our favorites are Dick Mack's Pub and Waterside Bistro and Cafe. / I was neither sponsored nor compensated for any of my travels in Europe, all opinions are my own and given simply because I had a great time and think that you can too.

Touristing at the Guinness Storehouse

I know, I know - we're constantly told to "be a traveller, not a tourist," and that sightseeing in cheesy, crowded locations doesn't allow you to immerse yourself in the local culture and get to know the true sense of a place. And I absolutely, totally believe this! I would never let a friend or family member visiting New York for the first time only go to Times Square and think that's what city life is like. Conversely, I pride myself on embracing my adventurous and inquisitive spirit by seeking out hole-in-the-wall bars, restaurants that don't have a million Yelp reviews, and obscure historical sites honoring people long forgotten by the general public. But when I visited Dublin a few weeks ago, I threw all that out the door and visited every tourist trap it has to offer. And I don't regret a second of it.

It all started with the Guinness Brewery. See, I love a good beer. I also love a good brewery tour. And while I've been on a couple well-know tours before (Heineken, Magic Hat), I've always viewed the Guinness tour as my personal Everest (dramatic, yes, but again - I really love beer). That, and I had actually never drank a full, pure pint of Guinness. I'd had black & tans and black velvets and black castles (Guinness + Bass, cider, and Smithwicks, respectively) but never an entire pint consisting solely of the black stuff. Call me overly sentimental, but I'd been waiting until I got to Ireland to have my first pint.

The brewery was not the first thing we did upon arriving in Dublin, because that would have made us seem like alcoholics. Instead, we toured the lovely Christ Church Cathedral and the lesser known Chester Beatty Library, home to a fascinating exhibit on world religions that showcased, among many other artifacts, some of the earliest known copies of the Letters of St. Paul and fragments of the four Gospels. My inner theology-buff was beyond excited. Best of all, the Library and it's collections are free to the public.

THEN we went to Guinness. And it was great! A bit pricy (20€ for each adult ticket), but it's a lengthy and informative tour that lasts well over an hour. It's also a ton of fun - each of the seven pint-glass-shaped floors (not joking) have interactive games, photo booths, whistling clam shells (again, not joking), and stations at which you can learn how to properly pour and taste your Guinness. You're allowed to go at your own pace, and the tour culminates in a full pint at the bar on the top floor (included in your admission ticket). With 360-degree windows, the view of Dublin is nearly as impressive as the beer itself.

So was it worth the 10-year wait to have my first pint of Guinness in Dublin? Yes. Even though I can't yet compare Irish Guinness to "the stuff they pour in the states," my pint was cold, creamy, malty, and everything I'd dreamed of. I raised a glass to my friends at The Three Counties (my local pub back in Chicago) and sat back to savor my drink. And then I finished J's drink as well because he's a whiskey guy not a beer guy and was secretly hoping I'd finish my drink quickly so we could head to a pub that serves mixed drinks. Which we did immediately after going back to our hotel to take a nap. Because that's how you vacation.

If you go: The Guinness Storehouse  is located near the outskirts of downtown Dublin; we took a cab there and walked back to our hotel. It's open seven days a week with the last tour beginning at 5pm, and buying your ticket online can save you 2€ per adult ticket.

TBT: Study Abroad in Florence, Italy

Ten years ago, I had the wonderful opportunity to spend the first half of my junior year of college studying at the Lorenzo de'Medici International Institute (or as my father called it, The Leonardo DiCaprio School of Fine Arts). It had been a lifelong dream of mine to study abroad in Italy, and I was beyond excited to embark on my long-awaited adventure.

Before I left the states, I had carefully researched, picked out, and highlighted the two travel guides that would accompany me on my journeys - DK Eyewitness Travel Guide: Italy (for the wonderful photography) and Rick Steves' Italy (for the wealth of information and step-by-step tours). I had my list of must-see sights (Leaning Tower, Colosseum, Eiffel Tower, etc.), and because I had the fortune of being in Europe at the same time as a handful of other friends from both high school and college, I had roughed out a tentative schedule of where and when to hit certain countries based on my other friends' travel plans. But I did thankfully tone down the anal-retentive impulses every once in a while to allow for some deviation and creativity. While I did run my friends ragged through the streets of Paris over the course of four days so that I could hit every "to-do" on my list, I also threw a wet pasta noodle at a map of Europe to determine where I'd travel the following weekend. It landed on Slovenia and I bought a ticket to Ljubljana that very evening, setting the stage for one of the more memorable weekends of my life.

When I did my semester abroad, it was the fall of 2004. Facebook had just emerged into the world, but my small midwestern college hadn't been accepted yet (back in the day, you had to have a college email address and your school had to be accepted into Facebook). My digital camera (with 6 whole megapixels, you guys!!) didn't have a magical button that shared my photos with the world, and I had to pair that with both my paper-weight of a Nokia cell phone and Discman CD player ("Mary's Italy Mix 3"). Communication with friends and family was done via a desktop computer at a nearby Internet cafe, and our maps and guide books were folded up and stored in our backpacks.

So what I'm saying is that even though it was only ten years ago, it was a different world. There was no sense of immediacy that is so present in today's world. While I was able to immediately view my pictures on the back of my camera, I couldn't just share them with my friends back home. I had a blog that I infrequently updated (see aforementioned Internet cafe), but it was more to just let everyone know I was still alive; it was only after I got back to Chicago after four months of traveling that I painstakingly printed out all my best pictures and inserted them into a (real! analogue!) scrapbook.

I had always had a touch of the wanderlust growing up, and though my semester abroad was the second time I'd traveled internationally without my parents (I did a two-week trip in high school to London and Scotland to perform in the Edinburgh Fringe Fest), it was the first time I was genuinely on my own in a strange place, international or not. Yes, my friends and I were released "on our own" for a few hours on a high school trip to New York City and yes, I was technically without supervision the entire time I was in college, but it was in Europe where I was truly an adult. We lived in an apartment in the very heart of Florence, not a dorm room, and there was no college campus to speak of that would provide any sense of community or union amongst other students. There weren't any clubs or organizations to join, so once our classes were over for the day, that was it - nothing to do, nowhere to be - an entirely foreign sense of being for the Type-A-Joiner-Doer-Overachiever that I was (still am).

We were also not on a meal plan, so we learned to grocery shop and cook three meals a day for ourselves - not that this was at all a struggle, however. We lived in one of the culinary capitals of the world and took full advantage of this. Fresh tomatoes, every cheese you can name, even the canned tuna was wonderful (and let's not forget the buckets of Nutella we all consumed...). Some of the meals I learned to make while studying abroad still find their way to my current kitchen table; to this day, a good friend of mine cites a plate of homemade eggplant parmesan eaten in our tiny Florentine kitchen as one of his most favorite meals ever.

I say all of this without yet mentioning the obvious, yet most important player in the study abroad game - the travel. With classes scheduled only from Monday evening through Thursday afternoon, we had close to a four-day weekend every week, (and that's not including the 10-day fall break we were given halfway through the semester), the world was our to conquer - and conquer it we did. No country was too far away, too hard to get to, or too confusing to navigate. We had backpacks and rail passes and €1 RyanAir flights and insider trading-level knowledge on which hostels had the best bars and happy hours. We had sights to see and cities to traverse and overlooks to climb and foods to try and museums to wander and drinks to drink and nothing was going to stop us from doing. it. all.

A trip like this was expensive. Though I had diligently saved the pennies I'd made slaving away behind a bar for two years, those cappuccinos and museum entrance fees quickly added up. Luckily though, I was young and unsophisticated and had yet to be introduced to the wonderful world of upper-middle-class-semi-luxury-travel. Overnight trains, shared dorm room-style hostels with 20 bunk beds in one room, €2 kebab dinners, walking seven miles to avoid a cab fare, and €3 jugs of Carlo Rossi were the norm. And while I know that some of my more well-bread classmates saw their semesters as one giant shopping trip for designer jeans and expensive leather boots, I neither knew nor cared about thread counts and brand names. I was roughing it, and I loved every minute.

Granted, it wasn't all sunshine and lollipops. Pickpocketing was rampant (every one of my five roommates and I were pickpocket-ed by the time the semester was over; mine came at the very end of the trip while looking through postcard racks on Las Ramblas in Barcelona.) The constant catcalling from every male on the continent also got old pretty quickly. Then there was the time I was staying with a friend in Salzburg when we got kicked out of the dorm room and had to literally wander the streets in the cold rain until we ran into another friend who graciously gave us a spare bed for the night. And there was the entire Vienna excursion that started on such a high note because we scored crazily cheap train tickets but that soon turned disastrous after we realized they were only one-way tickets and my traveling companion got robbed while we slept on the train by the very guy who'd befriended us.

But those lows made the highs ever higher. Nightly walks through downtown Florence for a second (third) scoop of gelato, being mistaken for an Italian while in Venice, riding the gondola to the top of the Matterhorn, sharing a beer and a giant pretzel at the Hofbrähaus, sipping wine next to the Trevi Fountain, swimming in the Mediterranean off the shores of the Cinque Terra, dancing in front of the famous glass gazebo from The Sound of Music, sharing fresh bread and cheese in a park in Paris...the list goes on and on. All told, I visited 9 countries, checked more than a handful of items off my Things To Do Before I Die List, made a bunch of new friends, grew closer to some older friends, and matured as both a person and a traveler.

This is by no means a guide to any of the destinations I visited. My memories have faded to a very pretty rose color, and besides - it was a decade ago. Any specific information I would have gleaned has all been recorded by much more fastidious people than I, and even if I did happen to remember names of specific restaurants or hostels, they are probably all gone or at least vastly changed by now. But if there is a takeaway to any of this post, it is that travel is not just good for the soul, but necessary for one's personal development. And if that travel can be continuous and during a semester of college, than it's all the more better. Of everyone I've ever talked to about studying abroad, not one person has ever regretted choosing to go - but nearly everyone regrets not going. Once graduation happens, chances for travel are few and far between. Yes, there are plenty of people who figure out how to make a living from professionally traveling or have incorporated extensive travel into their jobs, but by and large the rest of the population only has a few weeks of vacation a year (if you have a "normal" job, that is. I'm 30 and have yet to have one minute of a paid vacation). And after you factor in all necessary domestic trips to see family and the presence of children and the sheer cost of international travel and any other little thing that comes up over the course of a year, you might get one big vacation every few years. If you're lucky.

As a side note (though isn't this entire post one giant side note? I digress), the four months I lived in Europe also happened to be the longest span of time I had ever, and have ever, not been involved with a theatrical production. The older I get and the more I pack my schedule with rehearsals and techs and performances and lather rinse repeat, the more this period of time becomes sacred to me. Weekend jaunts to the beach, or even week-long vacations are wonderful but few and far between, and even when I do manage to get away, I'm still in some sort of pre-production, whether it be mental or actual. My brain can never turn off, and there is never not a show to think about. Before I left for Italy, I closed the show I had been working on all summer and then packed my bags and got on a plane. I did not bring a script with me, I did not frantically check and send emails regarding meetings I was missing, and outside of one night at the Florence Opera House, I didn't even see a live performance. I focused on classes and train timetables and Renaissance art and red wine vs. white wine and clackity cobblestone streets and well-lit piazzas - and it was wonderful. They were halcyon days and I am in constant search of how I can imbue even 10% of that semester into my daily life.

Have you ever studied abroad? Are there things you learned on your travels that you still incorporate into your daily life? If so, let me know in the comments - let's compare stories!

Photos:
1.)  Overlooking the Cinque Terra 2.) Being oh-so touristy in front of the Colosseum 3.) A lake in Slovenia 4.) Taking a break in Amsterdam 5.) A street in Pisa 6.) High school friends at the Louvre 7.) A beautiful plaza in Barcelona 8.) At the base of the Matterhorn 9.) A colorful beach in the Cinque Terra 10.) How the Swiss say hello 11.) Childhood dreams realized in Salzburg 12.) Gelato cones in Florence 13.) A day in Pompeii