KELLY'S GONE AGAIN
…AND HERE'S WHERE I'M AT.Archive for Food & Drink
#59. St. Barthelemy: Heaven and Hell
There are some places where, as soon as you arrive, you might as well have walked straight through the pearly white gates. There are others where, even if only instinctively, you feel fire. St. Barth is both.
#58. Big Sur: Going Back to Cali
One of the [few] things I love about moving is the discovery process (or, for my Type A’ers, re-discovery). Restoring memories from old photos, reliving favorite stories from old books, playing CDs burned years before but never titled. While unearthing some mystery music, one song in particular called out, “wouldn’t it be good if we could hop a flight to anywhere??” And I thought, “why yes, it would.”
The next day, I woke up in California.
#51. Paris: My To-Do, -See, -Eat, -Buy List
Well, I’ve finally said goodbye to Paris and, oui, I do miss it a little. I’ll relive it here by sharing some memories with you in the form of a list, 20-deep of random things to do, see, taste, hear and buy, should you find yourself in the vicinity. For one reason or another, they helped make my summer pretty splendid. Take from it what you like and, of course, bon voyage!
#50. Brussels, Bruges & Ghent: 2000 Bottles of Beer on the Wall
Ooh, was I sleeping on Belgium. Brussels was my first trip in Europe as a kid (from my then-new home in Germany), and though I have fond memories, I really didn’t crave a return. I did, however, crave those waffles – the one thing that stood out after all those years. So after discovering that the train ride from Paris takes under 2 hours, I bought a ticket and was on my way.
#49. Lisbon: Getting Personal in Portugal
Lisboa was different, not what I imagined. I don’t know what I thought it’d be – more “European” perhaps, wealthier, for sure, maybe even a little conceited from its new-found travel fanfare. I guess I just figured that, like many recently-recognized tourist treats, I’d be hit with a posh shopping district and fusion restaurants.
Smiling, I stand corrected.
#43. Cote d’Azur: The Usual Suspects, Part III
Note to Self:
“Self is no longer in New York City. Self is not riding subway.
Self doesn’t know where it’s going. Remove iPod and pay attention already.”
The plan was this: catch 6:54 a.m. train to Nice, depart Nice at 7:32, arrive in St. Raphael at 8:22, hop on the one St. Raphael morning ferry at 9:30, and be selecting leather sandals by 11 at St. Tropez’s famous Place de Lices market (only on Tuesdays and Saturdays, mind you), before it closed at 1 p.m. But you know what happened. You know I missed my train stop at St. Raphael.
#39. Les Adrets: Life in the South of France So Far
First, to all of you who have been wondering where and how I’ve been the last couple of weeks, thanks for your concern — definitely feeling the love. Second, the short answer: the South of France, and it’s fantastic.
This is true, for me, especially in the morning. I enjoy nothing more than sitting in a straw-backed chair at some random cafe, watching the days begin for so many locals: parents holding hands of school children on the way to/from class, town markets packaging up olives and meats and cheeses and vegetables for customers, and friends sitting down for a coffee and croissant. The best thing, though, has got to be the baguette.
#37. Modena & Bologna: Eating My Way Through Italy
You may have heard about “eating your way through Italy” tours. Such itineraries are created solely around culinary pleasure, ranging from delicate, civilized wine tasting to achingly-full menus of meats, cheeses and pastas, the mere consideration of which constitute outright, glorious gluttony.
I’ve eaten very well here, but certainly didn’t plan for that kind of trip. And then I found Bologna. Though I only spent a short time in “La Grassa” (or, as translated, “The Fat One”), it’s for the best. In the words of one of my best friends, the food was “dee-licious,” and I shudder to think what could become of my cholesterol levels had I elected to stick around.
#34. Sarone: What Took Me So Long?
I’ve eaten more olives in the last five days than I have in my whole life. Already I’ve helped empty twelve bottles of wine… and that’s just at home.
After a month in the States, post-Australiasia, I’m away again, on my way to France for the summer. Today though, I am in Italy; Sarone, to be exact, in the Perdonone region of the north, about an hour from Venice and nestled under the Italian Alps. I’m visiting one of my best friends (Julie) who happened to move here 2 months ago with her husband (Cody), since I just couldn’t come up with a better way to get acclimated to Europe than spending a few weeks in Italy. It is my first time here, and I cannot, to save my life, figure out why that is.
#27. Cairns: Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?
So after spending 4 days in the Great Barrier Reef, I decided to make an overnight stop back in Cairns, where I’d flown in initially. It’s a seemingly simple town, renowned for sailing, though I admittedly didn’t get a good feel for the place because I was only there for 24 hours. But here is the highlight, and the reason for the early island departure: for dinner, I checked out a nearby aboriginal cultural park, and it was so, so worth the stopover.
#24. Hunter Valley: Good Living
Hunter at Sunset
After a long work-filled week here in Sydney for my local friends Amani, Anna and Jake — and a bustling, fun-filled 5 days for me — we piled ourselves into a rental yesterday and escaped the city clamor for a little rest and a lot of wine in Hunter Valley.
It was as eventful as all road trips should be, with multiple stops for snacks, a series of music playlists, and an empty gas tank scare (seems you really can go pretty far with the light on). We approached the yards at dusk, met by warm, quiet, phenomenal views : vivid greens vines with sun-lit top layers, rolling mountain peaks, glimmering ponds, crisp white clouds broken by soft, orange rays. Beautiful, breathtaking, gorgeous, you name it.
#17. Rishikesh: A Day in the Life
(c) 2009 Todd Sykes.
I’ve been in Rishikesh, Uttarakhand, India for six days now. I’m equal parts happy and skeptical here, as half of the time I feel contentment and the other half I feel like I’m in some sort of yoga-based Jesus Camp. Being here often brings about a sincere snarkiness, making me wish daily that my former fellow yoga teacher trainee Barb was around, as a real-time, down-to-earth partner in crime to share my sentiments. More importantly, it requires me to focus on the most vital parts of yogic practice, namely kindness and nonviolence. I’m practicing those right now as I type another blog sans pictures, as my camera still isn’t working. I’ll add visuals soon but, for now, picture this:
