Most of my friends and family thought I was crazy when I told them I was going to Stockholm for Christmas and New Years. Generally speaking, they are correct. I am crazy. But in terms of my decision to spend the holidays in Stockholm, I beg to differ.
Spending my days basked in moonlight surrounded by lakes and bridges, bay views and gorgeous people, I think Stockholm is seeping with charm and an excellent choice for the winter holidays. An admittedly difficult place to meet new love interests (rumor has it the gals have to make the first move), I recommend bringing your own and you’ll be all set with a built-in cuddler to help fend off those winter winds. Also make sure to bring some extra cash – the dollar is very weak here.
But never fear – you don’t need to spend a lot of money. Without my own built-in cuddler, I was content to spend my afternoons wandering the streets alone, enjoying the stupendous views and the diverse neighborhoods in easy walking distance from each other, and fending off the winter winds with my very large camera. My favorite neighborhood is the vibrant Södermalm, which boasts an amazing bar/restaurant called Himlen, situated at the top of a skyscraper with nearly 360 degree views.
Whenever I started to get too cold as I was exploring the city, I would just duck into a café for some delicious hot tea (which they were often happy to refill for free with more hot water) and great ambience. My favorite was Melqvist Kaffebar, very near Södermalm. Or I would relax a bit and grab a beer from one of Stockholm’s many bars with excellent beer choices (they love Brooklyn Brewery here – you’ll find it everywhere!).
For some serious de-thawing I would spend the afternoon in one of Stockholm’s world-class museums. My favorite, of course, was the insanely popular Fotografiska photo museum complete with a bay-view café on their top floor. But as much as I loved Fotografiska, I will never forget the wonderfully curated collection in the beautiful Moderna Museet, which taught me so much about Swedish history.
I’ve put together a collection of my favorite snaps on one of my afternoon strolls in a special google map, which you can access by clicking below. Or, if you prefer, you can enjoy a slide-show. After just a few photos I think you’ll understand…there’s a lot more to Stockholm than Vikings and cold. Happy cuddling.
Click on this map for an interactive walking tour of Stockholm
Do you ever find yourself on vacation, overwhelmed by the beauty that you’ve walked into, and in a momentary moment of emotional clarity, wonder what you ever did to deserve this?
The first occurrence of that moment on my trip to Ojai, California, came to me during this sunset, with the blue mountains crisply running across the horizon and soft pink light illuminating from behind them as if painted by watercolor, highlighting little puffs of clouds running above the silhouette of a solitary oak tree. I thought, “This is Ojai. How did I get here??”
A signature for Ojai, the “Pink Moment” is a rare pink effect in the sunset occurring right before the sun sets, and happens thanks to Ojai’s east-west running Sulphur and Topatopa Mountains.
But there is oh-so much more to find here in Ojai. A little-known gem about an hour east of Santa Barbara, Ojai is the name for “moon” in the language of the Chumash Indians, who were among the first to discover this valley. The area is characterized by a mediterranean climate making it ideal for olive and grape growing, harkening back my memories of traveling through Puglia, Italy, and many train trips through the valleys and gently rolling golden hills of Tuscany.
Needless to say, Ojai plays host to countless artists looking for – and finding – inspiration. Here, on this incredible backdrop, I am here to help support a group of playwrights developing new plays for the American theatre, and supported by directors, actors, producers, and theatre professionals. They gather annually for the Ojai Playwrights Conference in search of their figurative “Pink Moment,” where the intersection of their creative processes creates something that will resonate in the imaginations and the hearts of their future audiences.
What makes the “Pink Moment” special is its rarity and intangibility. We come to Ojai, and other beautiful places, looking to be inspired by this beauty. But if we have to prepare ourselves for it – it doesn’t wait for us. And we often miss them, or don’t recognize them when we see them. I’m here, and I’m ready! Hope you are too. 🙂
This is my summer of re-love. I have returned to the United States for a mere two months, as I have done each summer since I relocated to Bologna, Italy three years ago. And I have been gifted a unique opportunity to be a tourist in my own country in the places that I once took for granted – places that I visited often for my whole life, and places that I lived. New York, Pittsburgh, Washington DC, and Southern California to be exact.
My father always told me that if I wanted to understand my relationship with a place I lived or a place I loved, I need to leave that place for some time before I can really have a good perspective on that place. Boy, was he right. Every year that I have returned to America I have had a new perspective on it. But this summer is different. This summer is the summer that I have finally understood and accepted these places into my heart and how my connection to these places is forever embedded into my hard-wiring. And I am returning and truly appreciating everything, even the bad.
My first stop since arriving in America this summer is New York. My father’s side of the family immigrated to New York in the early 1900’s and lived in Brooklyn. My godmother and godfather moved out of the city decades ago to a tiny city along the Hudson River called Ossining.
The snapshot above is my favorite on my trip this far. Taken on the bank of the Hudson river, I am at left with my godmother Suzanne on the right, who is a second mother to me. In the picture below, thirty-three years ago, my godmother is holding me in almost the exact same spot where we are standing above on the bank of the Hudson River.
Me and my godmother enjoying the Hudson sunset in 1980.
To think of everything that has happened in the 33 years since this picture was taken is pretty overwhelming. But this beautiful place is the same as it has always been, to me at least. Just an hour’s train ride from Grand Central Terminal, this other world of rolling hills and majestic lake views is sometimes easier to get to than Brooklyn. I realize I am lucky to have this beautifulness in my life, a place my dad has gone back to for decades, and a place my godmother still calls home. But I think we all have these beautiful places in our memories and in our hearts that are part of what makes us who we are. Sometimes it just takes some time to re-love them again.
I live in Bologna, Italy, a mere five and a half-hour drive from Basel, Switzerland, which hosts one of the most important annual modern and contemporary art shows in the world, Art Basel. In my two years of living in Bologna, did it ever occur to me to make a trip to Basel? No. Why not? Good question. Laziness…money…ignorance perhaps…I guess it gets the best of us sometimes. Our own backyards are sometimes the last place we explore. In this case, I was lucky enough that my friend Zong rescued me from my remiss by inviting me to meet him at his gallery’s exhibition this year at Art Basel.
Having virtually no visual arts education and not being a fan of fairs and trade shows in general, my decision to go was in the spirit of adventure, friendship, and trust in Art Basel’s excellent reputation. And, well, why not? The exhibition spanned a full week in Basel, with about 300 galleries exhibiting, strictly chosen from a group of 2,000 applicants. It sounded promising.
Simply put, Art Basel wholly lived up to its reputation and in scale, was truly the most impressive collection of modern and contemporary art I have seen in my life. And I really can’t stress this enough – you don’t need to know anything about art to enjoy an exhibition like this. From all-star artists like Picasso and Warhol, furniture and design displays, photography, and installation art, there is something for everyone. And don’t even try looking at everything – there’s no time. Just stop and look at what really gets you.
Statistically speaking, there is something for everyone, and because this is not your average art show, that something is likely to be, well, amazing. I will never forget the moment I walked into one of the exhibit halls at Art Basel, roughly the size of a football field, and realized the entire hall was dedicated to installation art. This is not the sort of thing you find every day. I suddenly felt like an eight-year-old that just walked into Disneyland. I spent the afternoon weaving my way between larger than life paintings with their own soundtracks (think Moby Dick dressed in costume complete with whale sounds and a recorded reading), huge sculptures, through installed walls of fictional deserted businesses on an urban street, and into countless dark rooms with video projects, each one like a treasure waiting to be pulled out of a grab bag. By the end of the day, my mind was soaring from all the stimulation from so many visual delights. I was thrilled. I even managed to convince my athletic and left-brained travel companion, David, to come. He found solace in the visual mind tricks from architecturally inspired installations.
And the cherry on top of the fabulousness that was Art Basel was the beautiful, accessible, and relaxed city of Basel. While the city was packed with people attending the exhibition, there was plenty of room for everyone (aside from the steep hotel prices – book in advance). I spent a relaxing evening enjoying a stroll along the River Rhine, soaking in the beautiful architecture and the wonderfully relaxed vibe. My friend David spent the day hiking along the river, which he filled me in on with his iPhone photos when we met later for dinner at a local favorite for beer, The Fischerstube.
Reuniting with Zong in what really did turn out to be a mecca of modern and contemporary art, I really started kicking myself for not being more proactive with my travel adventure research and coming to Art Basel sooner. How many other amazing places are there to explore and things to do in the world am I missing because, well, no one has invited me? I’ve really got to get on this…Next year, Venice Biennale, here I come!
Here’s a slide show of my favorite photos from Basel:
When deciding from long lists of potential vacation destinations seems to have less reason than throwing a dart at a dart board, a good potential mantra could be, “If it is good enough for George Clooney, it is good enough for me.” Such is the case with famed celebrity destination, Lake Como (Lago di Como), which is in Lombardy, Italy, near the Swiss border. While George Clooney was forced into selling his villa here several years ago due to ongoing paparazzi onslaughts, this area has long been a destination for real and quasi royalty, with a guest list boasting the likes of Pliny the Younger, John F. Kennedy, Mark Twain, and Tom Cruise.
Even the sidewalks are beautiful in the Lake Como region, here at Bellagio.
So what is so great about Lake Como? Who knows. But there is something undeniably charming about a grand, lazy lake, winding around rolling green hills dotted with tiny villages painted in pastel, with the occasional eloquent villa tucked around the bend. And to make matters better, after a day on the lake, a relaxing dinner of homemade pasta with black truffles and Tuscan wine awaits.
It was a rainy day at Lake Como, but still beautiful.
Bellagio is one of the famed villages in the community, accessible by a dependable network of boats serving most of the villages in the area, and boasting a namesake casino in Las Vegas that is nearly the same size as this tiny little town.
A sunset this heavenly seems fit only for a date of equally epic proportions – Romeo, perhaps? Well, this is Verona, Italy, seen vividly in my sunset shot from my trip last weekend. And I guarantee you, Verona’s capacity for romance doesn’t disappoint. If you buy your plane tickets now, you might just be able to claim Romeo as your valentine. And if you are good at keeping secrets, his address is via Arche Scaligeri 2. Shhhhhhh!
Don’t worry, I’ll keep Juliet occupied. 😉 She’s pretty much just a bronze statue these days anyway, so I think we’ve got it in the bag.
International in scope and youthful at heart, Budapest’s style, fascinating history, exploding nightlife, and affordable quality of life make a visit to this city a no-brainer addition your European itinerary. Seriously, don’t miss it.
I wish I could say that I did everything on my Budapest “must see” list. But to be completely honest, I didn’t even come close. A place of both obvious and hidden treasures, it is a matter of time, curiosity, and determination to truly understand it’s potential. To that end, my must-see list was lengthy and impossible to complete in one trip. I never made it to Castle Hill, I never saw the inside of the Parliament Building or St. Stephen’s Basilica. I never even made it to City Park. At face value, my trip seems to be a complete failure.
I admit my youth leads to a overpriority on nightlife when I travel. During wintertime travel, the result is an overwhelming reduction of my daylight touring hours and traditional sightseeing activities. But if there is any city to focus on nightlife, it is in Budapest. Not partaking in Budapest’s robust nightlife means not truly experiencing what makes this city unique. Thousands of young, international tourists fill the streets after dark, exploring the city by night with the help of new friends and word of mouth about the underground nightlife scene, including a never-ending supply of ruin bars, expanding every notion you’ve ever had about what to expect from a bar or club. My favorite was Szimpla Kert, a place defining the unexpected, boasting a multi-level open floor-plan with a maze of staircases, balconies and small rooms, of which the cherry on top of the randomness was a pile of giant peeled carrots on the bar, and a copy machine in the middle of one of the main rooms downstairs. Another unforgettable night was the party at the Rudas Thermal Baths, which are open until 4am on Saturday night. We showed up at 1:30am.
I could go on and on, but I’m not going to ramble. Instead, I am going to let some of my pictures speak for themselves. And I’m also expecting you to go…asap. Because there’s more where this came from. And you know, the best part about having leftovers on my “must see” list? I have to go back soon… Slide show of my favorite Budapest photos.
In all honesty, when my best friend suggested we spend Christmas in Ljubljana, my first response was, “Wait, what did you say?” I’d never actually heard this city’s name spoken before and I was baffled when my friend first uttered it.
After this awkward beginning to our vacation planning, you can imagine how pleasantly surprised I was to eventually find ourselves in the capital of Slovenia, in the midst of a city that skillfully manipulates its many resources with more than ideal results.
Considered one of the safest national capitals in the world, one of its claims to fame is it has no claims to fame. A trip to Ljubljana is simply an exercise of complete cultural immersion and no stress – it is totally walkable, it is in the Eurozone, and it is more than affordable. Which, to me, spells out “perfect weekend getaway,” or a nice addition to an already busy travel itinerary with just a little space left.
Ljubljana has lots to give, so it really just depends on what you are looking for. Every building in the historic city center seems to warrant a study in architecture, not to mention Ljubljana’s landmark castle, which perches on a hill overlooking the city and sports a fantastic restaurant. There are a plethora of good local wines (only two or three euro per glass!), a fun yet casual nightlife (thanks to the local university), thermal pools, museums, and both local and international tasty treats to choose from. What more could you ask for?
To top it off, the heart of the city center hugs a picturesque river framed by weeping willows. Deciding where to spend an evening in Ljubljana is as simple as following the gentle curve of the river, which will take you by many of the popular bars and restaurants in the center. If you are indecisive, you can even zig-zag back across the river with the help of a series of bridges, seeming more like art pieces than something meant for practical use. Summer can’t come soon enough, when I plan to return to Ljubljana and spend a lazy Saturday afternoon sitting on a patio along the river, enjoying a long meal, and people watching.
My best friend Lena and I visited Ljubljana over Christmas, so our experience was distinctly holiday infused. Unbeknownst to us, Ljubljana seems to be ground zero for holiday decorations, with decorations in every corner of the city and an endless series of what could best be described as whimsically beautiful Christmas lights following the river which culminates in a Christmas market in the main square. I can say, in all my travels, I have never seen more imaginative Christmas decorations. Arriving on Christmas eve at 10pm, we had resigned ourselves to eating take-out pizza and going to bed at 11pm, and were instead whisked into the whirlwind and magic which is Ljubljana on Christmas eve, where the city center is the place to see and be seen. Families and friends meet in the center to enjoy the festivity along the river, mulled wine, tasty treats, and last-minute shopping at the market.
The only challenge with visiting Ljubljana is getting there. While it borders many countries: Italy, Croatia, Hungary, and Austria, existing conflicts in train travel between Hungary and Italy have led to a dearth of direct trains from either country. Your options are buses, planes, or trains from Austria or Croatia.
I couldn’t be prouder that I have come so far as not only being a proponent of making this city a destination in your European travel planning but also proudly letting the city’s name roll off my tongue: I heart lyoo-BLYAH-nah. 🙂
My English students in Italy often ask me to explain the difference between “home” and “house.” I usually stumble through my answer. The best I have ever managed to muster up is that a house is a building, whereas a home is your place to be.
This is by no means a textbook definition, and I could definitely do with some good input in a major way. How do you define a home?
Our subway stop.
I am really interested to know. As I rambled about in a previous blog entry, my travels through the United States this summer have uncovered the depth of my ongoing quest to answer this very question on a personal level – what is my home?
Predictably, the answer hasn’t come easily. Welcome complications have arisen from recent life adventures that sent me from my long-time home in San Diego, CA to a new beginning in Pittsburgh, PA, followed by Bologna, Italy, where I am now. I’ve spent this August on a break from work gallivanting around the eastern United States with old friends, family, and coworkers. My most recent stop was Park Slope, Brooklyn, a sort of homecoming after being away for many years. My visit incubated a little voice that has been nagging me, and has become annoyingly loud over the last few days. Park Slope, always a “taken for granted” second home for me, might actually be home.
Park Slope, Brooklyn is, at face value, a lively, diverse, and wealthy community in Brooklyn, NY. Sporting every imaginable cuisine within a ten minute walk, ornate churches, overpriced boutiques (is that redundant?), and the most diverse families I’ve seen in the US, some scoff at the sky-high real estate and the gentrification of the area. But don’t judge a book by its cover. This community has an identity that most certainly is more than meets the eye. The history and complexity of Park Slope could fill a thesis or two, and there are tons of people that can explain it better than I.
Ironically, Park Slope was my first home in the US after my family moved me from my birthplace in Lomé, Togo across the ocean to my father’s childhood home, a beautiful brownstone (although not made of brownstone), in the heart of the Slope on 4th street and 7th avenue.
My grandma. 🙂
It is this very history, and the history of families like mine in the neighborhood, that has made this community feel like home. As even with the Starbucks and the boutiques that have crept into 7th avenue over the years, the community’s rich past is still evident in staples like Pino’s Pizzeria,
mentioned in an earlier post as the best pizza I have eaten outside Italy. While easy to overlook, this food culture is a steadfast part of the immigrant population of the area.
My family’s home of 50 years in Park Slope, Brooklyn.
I was lucky enough to be born into US citizenship, but I am fiercely proud to share something in common with the thousands of immigrants of every imaginable origin whose parallel paths finally crossed when they found their home in this community, binding cultures that rarely overlapped outside of the US. Like many new immigrants, my great grandparents on my dad’s side, from Ireland, settled in Brooklyn. My grandparents moved my dad and my uncle to 4th street after purchasing their brownstone in 1955, which stayed in our family nearly fifty years. At that time the neighborhood was affordable – my grandpa sold subway tokens and taught my dad the ins and outs of riding the subway as if he were one of the architects of the subways, details that my dad has tried to pass on to me, but now seem insignificant as this once coveted information has been replaced by your latest iPhone app.
4th street and 7th avenue in Park Slope, Brooklyn.
It is hard to separate my dad from his roots in Park Slope, crossing 4th street every night to have his second dinner at his best friend Michael’s house, who was a second generation Italian American and the oldest of seven brothers. He later became my godfather. And although my dad has lived in California for much of his adult life, every time he says “faarest” instead of “forest,” I am reminded of stories of his days playing ball on 4th street with Michael and the other guys that are still his best friends.
My dad and his buddies, a long time ago. 🙂
Park Slope still feels like home because of its magical, enduring ability to remain constant in its dynamic identity where people from other places, and people who don’t know where their homes are, find their homes here.
This is a place filled with people searching for – or finding – a home. People like my fabu friend, Steph, proudly representing a new generation in Park Slope, after making the big move from DC to start her new job at the NYC Department of Education last week.
Lunch with Steph.
And just last night I crashed a wedding rehearsal dinner on the roof of a new apartment complex in Park Slope, recently purchased by a fabulous lesbian couple that are friends of my childhood neighbor.
View from the rooftop.
All at once it feels surreal and perfectly normal to be surrounded by these people – the new pioneers in Park Slope, whose grandchildren may one day be writing a blog entry on this very topic.
For me, no matter how many deluxe baby carriages, Starbucks, and purebred dogs currently fill the streets of Park Slope, the democracy of its roots are unmistakable.
The people who made this history and the people who are only now discovering the Slope are crossing paths, just as the immigrants of my dad’s generation dad, to add to its identity and make this place incredible.
And maybe now I can do justice explaining the Slope to my english students the next time they ask me the difference between “house” and “home.” Not a house, but a home – this home, this place, is Park Slope, Brooklyn.
I’ve put together some of my favorite shots from my last trip to Park Slope, as most of our pics are on film and are buried in closets. One of these days, I will dig them out. I did include a few old pics of Park Slope taken my dad and other family members.
Today I experienced that moment – that unmistakable moment – when my sunny carefree Sunday suddenly got kicked up a notch. The sky overloaded with giant, moving grey clouds, the wind began to kick my hair around, and that hot, sticky world that normally consumes me the second I leave home or work suddenly went away and what came instead was a chill and an unmistakable sense of foreboding.
But somehow, I didn’t mind. Just like all the other people at the Boat House restaurant in Ossining, NY, didn’t mind. Why not? What is so magical about a summer storm? The unexpectedness of the experience? The visual drama? The weather?
We could barely see through the raindrops on the window to the storm just on the other side.
In my former corner of the world in the south of California, summer storms are nearly non-existent. So my fond memories of these experiences all come from my summers spent in New York City. To me, summer rain IS New York City. The drama, the smell, and the temporary urgency fleetingly catapult me back in time fifteen years to walking to acting class on the lower west side of Manhattan in July and racing for cover under the nearest overhang, only to discover four construction workers doing the exact same thing who subsequently became my new best friends.
A study in contrasts, a summer storm is all at once overbearingly dramatic, yet not in the slightest bit threatening. The torrential wind and downpour is dramatic but warm, and somehow, not dangerous. There is a universal understanding that this storm will be over soon, and life will go on as before. In fact, life will even be a little more bearable with that slight breeze in the air, a cleaner city, and humidity washed away with the storm.
My aunt, Suzanne DeChillo, snapped this photo of me taking pictures just after the storm.
Today I experienced the magic of the summer storm from a perfect vantage point – front row seats at the picture window facing the Croton Bay at the Boat House restaurant in Ossining, NY. Guests sitting just outside the window on the patio ran inside for cover in a fit of temporary hysteria – hair flying, makeup running, food drenched. But my family and I sat inside, dry and entertained, and relished the beauty of the moment. These moments that I cherish, that I rarely experienced in my life in the west.
The ocean is deceptively calm.
These photos are of the end and the aftermath of the storm. And what a reward it was to discover the bay like this. Just a short train ride from Grand Central Station, this place instead feels worlds apart from the bustle of the city. The perfect place to relish a summer storm.
