Ah Paris. Land of the croissant, des petits cadeaux des chiens (dog poop), and of course...La Tour Eiffel. I have been to Paris a few times over the past 10 years and always find myself following my old footsteps: Notre Dame, L'Arc de Triomphe, Sacre Coeur, Les Champs Elysees, Louvre, and La Tour Eiffel. One of the great things about European cities like Paris is the impressively old architecture, the rich history steeped in war and national victories, and the excitement of wandering through crowded cobblestone streets.
Been there. Done that.
This time I wanted something more. I have always traveled to a place and thrown on a backpack, my trusty tennis shoes, and a defensive traveler's attitude and pounded the pavement to "see the sights." After awhile, you realize that this old stone building bares a slight resemblance to the other old stone building you saw yesterday in another town, another country, another world. I was seeing the main attractions of the place I was visiting, but I wasn't connecting with the local townspeople who live amongst these attractions every day of their lives.
After deciding that maybe building bike trays wasn't as fun as I hoped (and I really was hoping), I hopped on the TGV and bolted up to Paris to hang out with my friend....a real life Parisian! What does the Australian Outback and downtown Paris have in common? My friend Anne! I met this French outdoor version of myself (but with a much better fashion sense) on a 10 day camping trip through the "Red Center" of Australia. After surviving deadly bugs, annoying flies (did I mention there were flies?), and ravage dingos, you tend to form a bond with your fellow travelers...especially if one of them parks their swag next to you in the tent! Graciously opening up her home, her fridge (yum french cheese), and her time to me, I went from "fast walking blond tourist girl who stays in hostels" to "hey I know a local and have a key to an apartment!" girl (although I still did walk fast...I'm still me!).
Knowing a local opens up parts of the city you never before knew existed. I visited the inside of a downtown Parisian office, I had a few night time tours of Paris by car (thanks Anne!), and I ate the most expensive and cheesiest mashed potatoes in all my life. I think I consumed 4 days worth of calories in one meal. And damn were they good! Gros bisous to Anne for entertaining this oh-so-obvious American girl for a week in Paris. Time for her to visit me so she can experience some skiing a la Rocky Mtn Style!
After a week in Paris, I still had time to burn before I needed to leave for Czech. Yes...I will eventually be working in Europe. So...being the "girl on the go" that I am, I took an early train out of Paris, met another Backroads leader at the train station in Avignon, and went straight on through to Italy. Do not stop go. Do not collect 200 Euros. Do not do your laundry. 14 hrs, a broken train, and one precious bottle of water later...we arrived in San Remo, Italy.
Ah Italy. I have such fond memories of Italy the last time I visited. I remember crossing the French/Italian border only to be stranded for 12 hrs because of a train strike. I remember my train breaking down and leaving me alone in a train car with two Italian men and no electricity. I remember sharing a hotel room in Florence with two random strangers I met (both girls) because the hostels were all full at 2 am in the morning when I arrived (go figure). And finally, I remember splashing through the streets of Venice holding my shoes and socks above the disgusting water as I desperately navigated the narrow winding streets to make my train to Austria and get the heck outta Italy! :) But San Remo...oh San Remo. I do believe Italy just stole my affection from France.
When John, my fellow Backroads leader fresh off a two year Peace Corp term in Ukraine, told me he knew a Captain of a sailboat who "made the best tomato salad you will ever taste," I knew I was in for a treat. Little did I know that I would have to roll myself out of Italy with all the food I was about to eat.
San Remo...currently home to the sailboat with the world's tallest mast, countless million dollar yachts with 20+ crew members, and the non assuming beautiful sail boat of Captain Nedo. The Captain is in his 70s and has worked on a boat for the past 58 years. Upon first meeting me he told me two things. One, New York has the worst tomatoes he has ever tasted in his life. And two, the most important things in this world (in this order) are food and women. Spoken like a true Italian. After getting a full tour of the sailboat by the handsome Italian/Spanish/American deck hand/engineer/jack of all trades guy, we were invited to a tomato salad dinner at the Captain's house that night in the hills of San Remo.
Imagine if you will...a beautiful green Italian hillside. Fresh rain pouring down on the leaves. Lemon, olive, and cherry trees scattering the grounds. And in the middle of it all is a tiny nursery where you can find home grown tomatoes, lettuce, and herbs...fresh for the taking. Wearing over sized green galoshes, a yellow rain jacket big enough to fit me and a few handsome Italian sailors and the biggest grin in weeks, I ate dark red cherries off the branch, picked juicy strawberries from the ground, and learned that not all tomato picking experiences are bad! ;) After a meal of our fresh garden veggies and home made olive oil, the Captain brought out a few bottles of homemade Limoncello. Ah Limoncello. Consisting of lemon rinds, alcohol, sugar, and time, Limoncello gives you a sweet and syrupy kick guaranteed to make your cheeks pucker and your laughter louder. After eating one of his meals, I now understand why Nedo has not eaten in a restaurant in 30 years. Hard to compete with your own garden...
After a 14 course mushroom dinner the following night, numerous attempts to drink and actually enjoy espresso, and some hip shaking dancing at the club on the dock...this girl had to say goodbye. Duty calls. Only this time, my office is the open road and my work is whatever may roll my way.
Next broadcast coming from the Czech Republic...
Been there. Done that.
This time I wanted something more. I have always traveled to a place and thrown on a backpack, my trusty tennis shoes, and a defensive traveler's attitude and pounded the pavement to "see the sights." After awhile, you realize that this old stone building bares a slight resemblance to the other old stone building you saw yesterday in another town, another country, another world. I was seeing the main attractions of the place I was visiting, but I wasn't connecting with the local townspeople who live amongst these attractions every day of their lives.
After deciding that maybe building bike trays wasn't as fun as I hoped (and I really was hoping), I hopped on the TGV and bolted up to Paris to hang out with my friend....a real life Parisian! What does the Australian Outback and downtown Paris have in common? My friend Anne! I met this French outdoor version of myself (but with a much better fashion sense) on a 10 day camping trip through the "Red Center" of Australia. After surviving deadly bugs, annoying flies (did I mention there were flies?), and ravage dingos, you tend to form a bond with your fellow travelers...especially if one of them parks their swag next to you in the tent! Graciously opening up her home, her fridge (yum french cheese), and her time to me, I went from "fast walking blond tourist girl who stays in hostels" to "hey I know a local and have a key to an apartment!" girl (although I still did walk fast...I'm still me!).
Knowing a local opens up parts of the city you never before knew existed. I visited the inside of a downtown Parisian office, I had a few night time tours of Paris by car (thanks Anne!), and I ate the most expensive and cheesiest mashed potatoes in all my life. I think I consumed 4 days worth of calories in one meal. And damn were they good! Gros bisous to Anne for entertaining this oh-so-obvious American girl for a week in Paris. Time for her to visit me so she can experience some skiing a la Rocky Mtn Style!
After a week in Paris, I still had time to burn before I needed to leave for Czech. Yes...I will eventually be working in Europe. So...being the "girl on the go" that I am, I took an early train out of Paris, met another Backroads leader at the train station in Avignon, and went straight on through to Italy. Do not stop go. Do not collect 200 Euros. Do not do your laundry. 14 hrs, a broken train, and one precious bottle of water later...we arrived in San Remo, Italy.
Ah Italy. I have such fond memories of Italy the last time I visited. I remember crossing the French/Italian border only to be stranded for 12 hrs because of a train strike. I remember my train breaking down and leaving me alone in a train car with two Italian men and no electricity. I remember sharing a hotel room in Florence with two random strangers I met (both girls) because the hostels were all full at 2 am in the morning when I arrived (go figure). And finally, I remember splashing through the streets of Venice holding my shoes and socks above the disgusting water as I desperately navigated the narrow winding streets to make my train to Austria and get the heck outta Italy! :) But San Remo...oh San Remo. I do believe Italy just stole my affection from France.
When John, my fellow Backroads leader fresh off a two year Peace Corp term in Ukraine, told me he knew a Captain of a sailboat who "made the best tomato salad you will ever taste," I knew I was in for a treat. Little did I know that I would have to roll myself out of Italy with all the food I was about to eat.
San Remo...currently home to the sailboat with the world's tallest mast, countless million dollar yachts with 20+ crew members, and the non assuming beautiful sail boat of Captain Nedo. The Captain is in his 70s and has worked on a boat for the past 58 years. Upon first meeting me he told me two things. One, New York has the worst tomatoes he has ever tasted in his life. And two, the most important things in this world (in this order) are food and women. Spoken like a true Italian. After getting a full tour of the sailboat by the handsome Italian/Spanish/American deck hand/engineer/jack of all trades guy, we were invited to a tomato salad dinner at the Captain's house that night in the hills of San Remo.
Imagine if you will...a beautiful green Italian hillside. Fresh rain pouring down on the leaves. Lemon, olive, and cherry trees scattering the grounds. And in the middle of it all is a tiny nursery where you can find home grown tomatoes, lettuce, and herbs...fresh for the taking. Wearing over sized green galoshes, a yellow rain jacket big enough to fit me and a few handsome Italian sailors and the biggest grin in weeks, I ate dark red cherries off the branch, picked juicy strawberries from the ground, and learned that not all tomato picking experiences are bad! ;) After a meal of our fresh garden veggies and home made olive oil, the Captain brought out a few bottles of homemade Limoncello. Ah Limoncello. Consisting of lemon rinds, alcohol, sugar, and time, Limoncello gives you a sweet and syrupy kick guaranteed to make your cheeks pucker and your laughter louder. After eating one of his meals, I now understand why Nedo has not eaten in a restaurant in 30 years. Hard to compete with your own garden...
After a 14 course mushroom dinner the following night, numerous attempts to drink and actually enjoy espresso, and some hip shaking dancing at the club on the dock...this girl had to say goodbye. Duty calls. Only this time, my office is the open road and my work is whatever may roll my way.
Next broadcast coming from the Czech Republic...
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