In an attempt at organization, I’ve collected little travel observations that I’ve posted on social media and brought them here to the blog. This way, I can more expediently answer life’s hard questions like, “What did I think of Iceland again??”
Paris, May 2019
Yesterday, dear Carina and Vic renewed their wedding vows in Paris. It was as moving a ceremony and as gorgeous a day as Paris commonly bestows on lovers.
But something was beautifully conspicuous about this celebration. For Paris, the City of Love, with its hazy atmosphere, nostalgic musicians, glowing lamp posts and cobbled streets, naturally celebrates the excitement of new love. Every corner exudes the sweetness of budding romance; of flirtation and seduction.
And here we were, celebrating not the heady beginnings of a love story, but the oft-glossed-over middle part. The trivial boring bits of “happily ever after” — dirty socks on the floor, romance-zapping stomach bugs, banal finance issues, incompatible travel-planning habits, in-laws.
“It’s a very different experience walking down the aisle knowing EXACTLY what you’re going in for,” Carina said, “and still saying yes to all of it.”
Yesterday, we celebrated not the stuff of Parisian love stories, but the full-on real story. The unedited middle part — of which without the plot twists, gory scenes, and battle-scarred heroes, there is no story.
Carina and Vic, and all the heroes of the middle part, i take my beret off to you. Big love.
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Budapest, April 2019
I’m not going to lie. I’m not rushing back to Budapest to dive into her traditional goulash. Or her national dish of chicken paprikash. Or even her schnitzel. I don’t think I’m alone in this. If we werent raised on these dishes, we wouldn’t be dreaming of them the way we do a rich carbonara or a comforting cassoulet.
And this is precisely the reason why I think Budapest’s food scene is hopping. HOPPING! Aside from the fact that streets are teeming with all sorts of international cuisine, there is, more notably, a remarkable range of “modern” hungarian restaurants: from fine dining (there are 4 michelin star hungarian restaurants in the city) to creative street food.
Walking the city, it will be readily apparent that the innovative food culture is disproportionately much larger here than in the established culinary meccas of France, Italy or even Spain. And maybe that IS, in fact, the curse of having rich terroir and a celebrated gastronomic history – modernization is slow to come by and any is met with all sorts of resistance. The world does not want to see change on the tightly-held traditions and recipes of these culinary giants. We all come home or visit to taste the cannoli that great-great-great nonna used to make. Or the croissant that’s been fed to the kings since 1567.
Meanwhile, due to an absence of an illustrious culinary past, young Hungarians are free to, or even urged to, revolutionize their national cuisine on a steady clip, bringing in outside influences and creating something interesting and exciting and relevant. It all feels a little bit like London’s culinary story. Or do i dare say, even Manila’s. Some experiments in this city are more succesful than others; but overall, an interesting, dynamic, forward-looking, and globally-aware food culture is simmering aaaall over this town. And that, I would come back for.
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Madrid, April 2019
I like to think of myself as a seasoned and shameless solo diner. I have zero hesitation eating alone. In fact, I welcome it. I don’t do books or phones; I sit back, enjoy the experience, and stare down anyone throwing pity looks. More often than not, I find someone to chat with.
Since my first solo dining experience in Spain almost 25 years ago, i STILL maintain that this country is the most difficult place for solo diners. Particularly if you like to forego the more civilized sit-down restaurante experience, and choose to tapa-nibble your way through old school local tabernas, bodegas or taperias. There’s a certain attitude required to elbow your way to the bar, get the busy hombre’s (who knows everyone in the bar except you) attention, attempt 2nd level spanish at deciphering the difference between a tapa and a racion, ignore shrugs or mumbles suggesting that you stop asking stupid questions and just get on with it, tuck into your order which will invariably always be awkwardly too much, and know, while standing amidst large groups of friends in animated conversation, that there will never be an opening for you to join in on any of them. Then, you take a deep breath and muster it all again at the next stop.
What I once thought was hostile behavior, I now realize is just IS. The Spanish are not vigorously welcoming to outsiders. Only when you get to befriend them do you feel their warmth.
So meanwhile, I suck it up, dust off and keep doing it. Because even just a simple tosta of manchego drenched in their divine olive oil makes it all worth it.
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El Nido, Feb 2019
Living on an outrigger for 5 straight days forces an internal reckoning: CAN YOU LEARN TO EMBRACE YOUR INNER COUNTRY (OCEAN) MOUSE? And in the middle of paradise, I said NO. Museums, cafes, mass transit, urban maps, rude people, noise pollution — these are, admittedly, the stuff of my happiness. So while everyone around me swam with turtles and clown fish and sea cows, I stayed (mostly) dry with the most adorable 13-year old (who, ironically, is a competitive swimmer but is equally unimpressed by the water) and learned the rubik’s cube. Win-win-win!
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Turin, October 2018
Turin: Roman-style narrow cobbled streets, laid out in the New York-style grid system, opening up to Paris-style grand piazzas and avenues, peppered with Vienna-style art nouveau coffee and chocolate shops, layered with Berlin-style fascist architecture, mushrooming with global hipster instagram-style cocktail bars, inhabited by culturally-proud but lovely and generous people all its own. #tryingtoputafingeronit #torino #italy
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Vienna, Plachuttas Glasshaus, July 2017
I very rarely order meat, and I’ve never sung its praises. But because I cannot adequately describe Vienna’s jaw-dropping architecture, I will instead talk about lunch. My Austrian brother-in-law told me I had to try the Tafelspitz in Plachutta. I asked what it was. He said, “boiled meat.” “Ugh,” I grimaced, then called for a reservation. … So, Tafelspitz. The dish comes to you in a big, bubbling, copper cauldron of meat, marrow and root veggies. Sides of roasted potatoes and creamed spinach accompany the pot. Tafelspitz is to be eaten in three courses, somewhat like Peking Duck served three ways. First, you ladle out the beef broth and the root veggies into a bowl. Enjoy them with what looked like egg noodles pre-dumped in the bowl. Next, you take a bone from the pot and savor the marrow spread like jam (or heaped on like mine) on rye bread. Third, you inhale the melt-in-your-mouth beef with horseradish sauce, apple sauce, the roasted potatoes, and the spinach. Then you think about this lunch for months to come. Moral of the story: if you want to go all highfalutin Austrian, buy horseradish sauce and annoyingly serve your Nilaga in 3 patience-testing courses. #solodininginvienna#architectureisthebomb#proteinrequirementsmet #delish
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East Village, Manhattan, July 2017
Hipster overheard: I’m changing people’s lives because I’m helping them with content strategy, so they reach everybody, y’know?
Oh east vill, you’re so special. #sundaywisdom #nojudgement#doyourthing
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Harvard Business School, Boston, June 2017
I joined my dad at his 50th reunion. I witnessed the surfacing of his american accent 😂, listened to stories from his former roommate, and heard them reflect on their careers and lives. From a school that churns out the biggest captains of industry and government, these were some of their insights:
Don’t delay your happiness: “Be careful of the myth that if you do everything right – you get in good schools, you get a good job – you’ll be happy ‘in the future’ “.
Don’t be rigid with your plans: “Be open to the shifting of context, the shifting of cultures. I would never have guessed then that I’d end up where I am now.”
Don’t let anything other than your happiness dictate how you should live: “Know who you are and be true to yourself.”
Pause consistently: “Take time to reflect.”
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Iceland, May 2017
I’m an urban traveler through and through. Give me traffic gridlock, smog, dogshit and rude people any day, as long as they come with some culture and interesting cuisine. Iceland met none of my criteria. There are exactly 6 buildings and 2 cars in the entire country; the people are too nice; there is no edge to the place; and the food doesn’t stand up to their atrocious prices. AND YET, for its strange, eerie and awesome terrain, Iceland deserves some respect. #bow#thelittlecountrythatcould#arayangmahal
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Dublin, May 2017
My brain making sense of the scene while walking around Dublin: “Whoa the Irish pubs are packed today. St Patrick’s Day? …. oh wait, that’s right, I’m in Ireland. It’s like st Patrick’s day everyday… and it’s where Irish pubs are just called ‘pubs’.” “I don’t understand anything they’re saying … oh that’s right, I’m in europe… oh wait, that was English.” #compused #confused#foundthenicestpeopleintheworld#dublin #friendschineserestaurant
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New York, May 2017
Home for a tune up, dietary reset, and laundry. Feels a little disorienting to suddenly understand 100% of every conversation around you. Must be why some of the hearing-impaired choose to forego their hearing aids. Because sometimes, you’d rather not know. #greatestcityintheworld#greatestboroughintheworld#jetlagchronicles #brooklyn
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Rome, May 2017
Sora Margherita – a tip from our painfully-hip host two years ago. This place isn’t hip, though. It’s a hole in the wall marked only by random red rope curtains. It houses two very memorable things that brought me back yesterday: (1) scrumptious Roman cuisine, and (2) a purple-haired, thick-eyelinered, non-English-speaking dictator of a server who may or may not (a) veto your order of a salad and instead fix you a plate of vegetables that will be the best plate of anything you’ve had in a long time, (b) interrupt the conversation you’re having with the next table to remind you to “Mangia! Mangia!”, and (c) literally force feed you any carcioffi alla giudia left on your plate. #iloverome
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Rome, May 2017
On the train into Rome, I sat behind 2 Italian women. They were panicking that they had not validated their tickets, and if caught, would have to pay a fine. True enough, the conductor arrived, looked at their unvalidated tickets, cluck-clucked, tsk-tsked, shook his head and charged them 50 euros. “Ma, signor, per favore… ” A 5 minute animated negotiation ensued. He then scribbled on their tickets; they breathed a sigh of relief and thanked him profusely. He then turned to me. I handed over MY unvalidated ticket. But since I didn’t have the vocabulary for ticket validation negotiations, I smiled at him and gave two half bows. He looked at my ticket, smiled, handed it back to me, and moved on.#ownyourasian #iloverome
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Rome, April 2017
Because I’ve been so deprived of niceness the past couple of days, when the train conductor answered my question logically AND THEN asked me how I learned to speak Italian, I almost asked him to marry me. #loverome #happyagain
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Venice, April 2017
“Wow, the Venetians reeeally don’t like tourists, huh?” I told a local. “Pffff,” he said. “You have to understand, there are 60,000 tourists that come to the island every single day. There are only 50,000 of us residents. Yesterday, I went to the supermarket, and the tourists bought all the eggs!! No eggs in the store!!” Friends, if you encounter Venetian rudeness, don’t take it personally. Remind yourself that they are just protein deficient. #lastrantonvenice
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Venice, April 2017
I swear it takes a certain type of smarts to navigate Venice. Case in point: a typical Venetian address would read like “1304 Cannareggio”. That’s equivalent to “1304 Makati” or “1304 West Village”. So you are expected to get to the neighborhood and figure it out?? Whuddufudge, Venetian urban planners of yesteryear? What happened to user experience design? When designing a product, you’ve got to take into account all potential customers — including 21st century tourists from nyc who can’t operate outside of a grid system. Instead, you’ve produced a city that has become like all things (or persons) good looking: confusing and frustrating. #ohyesiwentthere#dontmakemethink #lovehatevenice#cantgetoverhowlostiwas
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Venice, April 2017
Venezia travel tips: (1) when planning a visit to Venice, plan on going when it’s cold, wet, and dreary. Zilch swarms of tourists, zilch lines into museums. The cold, wet, dreary city will be all yours. (2) Swarms or none, accept that you WILL get lost. If you ask a local for directions and he starts with “It’s easy… “, run away. Because the street on which he tells you to turn left will be a bridge, and the second bridge he tells you to cross will be a lagoon. (3) Do not have multiple aperol spritzes to settle the frustration of being lost, particularly when you know you are on the opposite side of the island from your hotel. Because you will NEVER get home. (4) If all else fails, look for a vecchia signora Italianna who would rather walk you across the girth of the island to get you home than figure out your map.#emptyaccademia #tintorettoithi k #stmarkfreesaslave
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Venice, April 2017
Why did it take me over 20 years to return to magical Venezia? Instead, I wasted waaaaay too much time in Manila’s Venezia bar. So not the same. At least in the former, the liquid involved creates beautiful memories.#youthiswastedontheyoung