Tag: nightlife

How I pick my guides: Enjoying cocktails and sunset with The Roman Guy

Big cities can be quite a puzzle to get to know, and Rome is no exception.  Even tougher still, Rome’s huge tourism economy makes it tricky to discover how to deviate from the beaten path.  I’ve been to Rome about ten times, and I still don’t feel like I could confidently recommend a restaurant for dinner, for example.

When my extended family called me in Bologna a few months ago and told me they’d be in Rome and wanted me to show them around, I knew it was definitely time to brush up on those dinner recommendations, among other things.  It was time to work on my Roman game.  

It was a huge relief when they told me they were willing to spend a bit of money for the experience they wanted to have.  Having a fantastic time in Rome is totally possible without spending much money.  The catch is that it takes quite a bit of advance planning and research, which they didn’t have, and neither did I, really.

I immediately thought of finding them a high-quality walking tour of Rome.  In my work managing logistics for CISabroad, I’ve come to really respect a good city guide.  That being said, not all guides are created equal, as the job requires a curious combination of social aptitude, knowledge, and passion for their city.  If you manage to find a good guide, what they offer is invaluable: a personalized, in-depth local’s perspective on the city you’re visiting. Which is kind of the ideal offering when visiting a new place.

Once I find a guide I really like, and the company they work for is easy to work with, I find I usually like all the guides from that company, and can explore other tours they offer.  But finding that company can be tricky.  For my family’s trip, I was searching for a great guide and a unique tour that didn’t focus too much on history or culture, as my family is more of the sporty type.  So when I stumbled upon The Roman Guy’s Cocktail bars in Rome: Evening Walking Tour, it seemed to be the perfect solution and I booked it immediately.  Let me tell you, my family really appreciates a good cocktail.  The Roman Guy is a big operation, offering many different types of tours, and lots of guides.  They pretty much bent over backward to get my family set up with three tours, with just a couple of days notice.

Piazza Colonna, Rome.

We met our The Roman Guy guide, Fiona, in Piazza Colonna.  She immediately endeared herself to us, admitting she was thrilled to lead our private tour, as she needed to get away from her half-Italian, half-Australian teenage son who had just started his summer break.  “Our apartment is feeling smaller and smaller these days,” she chuckled.  She is the kind of person you hope to meet at a cocktail bar for some fun small-talk with someone other than your family members, who you’ve been talking to 24/7 since your vacation started.

We wove our way to the first bar, and Fiona casually introduced my family to the important landmarks along the way, like the Tempio di Adriano, which was in the neighborhood of the first bar we visited, sporting elegant cocktails and the coolest Jell-O Gin shots set in lemon skins I’ve ever had (ok, admittedly, the only Jell-O Gin shots in lemon skins I’ve ever had).

Lemon wedges with jello Gin shots.

Next stop was the Pantheon, where Fiona explained its intriguing history to my family, filling in the blanks of my less-than-adequate description from when we had been by the Pantheon earlier that day.  What can I say?  My forte is logistics and not history.  I can’t do it all, sigh.

Our guide, Fiona, explains the Pantheon.

With my family sufficiently briefed on the Pantheon, we headed to the next bar, and within a five-minute walk, we found ourselves in a sea of fun and chic bars and restaurants that were anything but tourist traps.  I’ve been in the area of the Pantheon umpteen times, and I never knew it took so little effort to get away from the touristy cafes.  Our destination was Bar del Fico, where Fiona helped me improve my Italian by explaining the origin of their name.  I’d always known that “fico” in Italian was a similar slang word to our version of “cool,” but I had never known that outside the slang, the real definition of the word “fico” was “fig.” 

We loved our cocktails at Bar del Fico.

The bar was named after a beautiful fig tree standing proudly out front, under which crowds of men were hunched over chess boards, playing to their heart’s content amidst the bustling little square full of action and life.  I loved this place, such a great find, feeling so far away from the typical tourist destination, yet actually, just a five-minute walk away.

Playing chess under the fico tree.

Next, Fiona diverted our tour to the French church, San Luigi dei Francesi, to see a Caravaggio painting.  This diversion was a personal passion she wanted to share with us, as she loves art and is fascinated with the life that the painter Caravaggio, a feisty character, led in Rome. 

I love photographing in Rome. There’s beauty around every corner.

As we sauntered to the next bar, she shared stories about Caravaggio’s antics in Rome in the 1600s and pointed out places where he had lived and frequented.  She also stopped to show us how to properly get water from the famous Roman drinking fountains.

Fiona showed us how to properly use a Roman fountain.

Now was the moment I had anticipated: crossing the Ponte Sisto bridge into Trastevere, and enjoying this lovely, spirited neighborhood on a Friday night.  My family would have never gone to this area of Rome if it weren’t for the tour, and were grateful to take in the sunset over the River Tiber from the bridge, and the fabulous vibe of couples and families hanging out, playing music, and taking in the beautiful scene. 

Sunset on the River Tiber.

The next bar was just a short walk from the bridge at the edge of Trastevere, famous for having one of the best cocktail-makers in the city, and a fabulous aperitivo.  My family hadn’t yet learned about the fantastic world of aperitivo, where a drink purchase buys you access to a free, endless buffet. 

The aperitivo buffet!

I, on the other hand, lived on aperitivo when I was a poor student in Bologna.  We fondly call the act of eating aperitivo for dinner “apericena,” meaning, “aperitivo” plus “cena” (dinner).  We apericena-ed happily this evening, enjoying the rambunctious crowd on the patio.

By the end of our cocktails, my family was admittedly exhausted.  It had already been a full evening, and were feeling the jet lag.  Nonetheless, we couldn’t finish the tour without stepping into the famously windy streets of Trastevere, and also not without a bit of dessert.  Fiona had just the place, and we soon found ourselves standing outside of a little bar, Vendita Libri, Cioccolate e Vino, that only offered chocolate shots with raunchy names.  We were thrilled. 

Selecting our chocolate shots.

We all selected our shot, blushed a little when we ordered it, and watched the bartender combine all of the delicious components into little chocolate cups topped with whipped cream. 

The catch was, we were firmly instructed by the bartender that we must insert the entire shot into our mouth, which we all laughed our way through, some of us with more successful outcomes than others.

We ended our evening with a walk to the taxi stand a few blocks away.  My sleepy family got in a taxi and were off.  Fiona and I exchanged a hug and a goodbye, and I walked back to my Airbnb in Trastevere.  To me, that’s the mark of a good tour guide…someone you’d like to stay in touch with.  I hope to see Fiona again on another tour or just around town.  And despite the jet-lag, my family considers this evening on The Roman Guy’s cocktail tour the highlight of their trip to Rome.

Bologna: the city of nighttime.

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As the host of the oldest university in the western world, Bologna has been a second home for young people from across Europe for centuries. And with the saturation of young people comes the inevitable nightlife of those who don’t have morning meetings and people depending on them to make breakfast.
I’m one of those students that made my pilgrimage to Bologna, only to be charmed by the nighttime energy of this city. Only in Bologna does coming home at 3am on a Saturday night feel early.  After five years of this, I’ve finally learned to prioritize my favorite places, and cut my nights short so I actually come home before sunrise.  Sometimes.
The energy of the city is visceral, and therefore photographable.  Instead of always wasting my nights away in laughter and Italian wine, I’ve started shooting instead.  Or at least, taking a few minutes to shoot on my way home, ha!  My new lens is a f/1.8, and the results have been fantastic.  I hope you enjoy my meanderings through the streets of Bologna, seen below.  And stay tuned for a vlog coming soon, featuring interviews with Bologna’s best bartenders!
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Saint Faustino’s Day: Celebrating Singledom the Italian Way

After spending most of the last five years of my life in Bologna, Italy, the day after Valentine’s Day will never be the same.  With the same pioneering, rule-breaking spirit that the Italians have brought to art, fashion, engineering, architecture, and crime, they’ve also brought to Valentine’s Day by creating their own holiday celebrating singles everywhere (everywhere meaning: the more the merrier) called Saint Faustino’s Day.  Happening annually on February 15th, the holiday would more appropriately be described as “clandestine lovers day.”  Since today is Saint Faustino’s Day, and you might not find yourself anywhere near Italy, here’s a little story to get you inspired for next year’s party planning.

It was a quiet afternoon in January and my tranquil afternoon was rudely interrupted by my telephone.

“Riiiiiiing!”

“Hello?” I answered from my apartment in Bologna, Italy.

“Yo Peg!  What’s up?  Can I use your place the day after Valentine’s Day?” comes the voice of my high school friend, also an American living in Bologna, and herein referred to as GF to protect his identity.

“What?! Why?”

“Why do you think? I want to meet girls!”

Sigh.  Of course.

“I don’t understand how your constant interest in the opposite sex has anything to do with my place or the day after Valentine’s Day,” I responded with the typical bit of annoyance creeping into my voice, a common occurrence in conversations with GF.

“Peg, what’s your problem?  Everyone knows the day after Valentine’s Day is singles day in Italy. I can’t have a party at my place!  I’d have to do the cleaning up!”

Obviously my friend GF has a lot of redeeming qualities that outweigh – or at least balance – the less than ideal ones.  And, as usual, I fell prey to his obscure charm and agreed to host a February 15th singles party at my apartment, much to the chagrin of my three roommates. I mean, hey, I was single.  Why not get into the spirit, right?  No sense in languishing in feelings of inadequacy on Valentine’s Day when I can be busy party planning for Saint Faustino’s Day.

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Party planning in Bologna.

Party-planning immediately got underway, meaning I created what turned out to be a fairly robust Facebook invite.  GF constantly monitored it to check out how attractive the girls were that had RSVPed “yes.”

But as the big day approached, I got sick.  Strep throat.  It wasn’t pretty. And I had no insurance to get antibiotics, as my “permission to stay” application had not been finalized yet by the Italian authorities, which meant that I was living in a crack within Italian bureaucracy and had no legitimate access to healthcare (although, to their credit, I could always go to the hospital and would be well taken care of).  On February 12th I found myself sitting and crying on the couch in our dining room because my fever was so high. I didn’t know what to do, and things really weren’t looking good for Saint Faustino. My Turkish roommate Zey, who is possibly the nicest person on earth, walked by on the way to the kitchen.  She assessed the situation (me) and quickly produced the travel antibiotic she always gets before leaving Istanbul and returning to Bologna.

I started taking them right away.  I stayed in bed constantly, abstaining from all social invites and even cancelling teaching English lessons.  I was determined: I had to get well for the Saint Faustino party.

Valentine’s Day came and went quickly.  Forgettable.  And I quickly found myself waking up on Saint Faustino’s Day.  I was still really sick.  So what did I do?  I got out of bed, took a shower, and put on my best pink cocktail dress and a whole lotta makeup.  I figured if I wasn’t going to heal the old-fashioned way, I may as well just give it the good old college try.

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We decorated our dining-room-with-a-couch with a random assortment of accessories from the 99 cent store (actually, multiple 99 cent stores, since they are practically on every corner in Bologna).  Friends started arriving, mostly from my graduate program at the University of Bologna and our extended circle.  GF arrived fashionably late with his sidekick and enough liquor for an army.  He immediately started complaining about my playlist and anxiously awaiting enough guests to make the party not embarrassingly empty.

And came they did.  Very fashionably late. But what would a party be in Italy if the guests arrived before 11pm?  Boring, that’s what! 😉  Friends came in groups and trickles of singles that we knew from all over town.  People tossed their coats in my room.
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Was everyone single?  Not even close.  But we all had at least one thing in common – we were all indisputably fun-loving.  Somebody brought a guitar.  Others starting noting my Valentine’s accessories and playing games.  People paired up and then mingled again. A couple found my room suitable for making out, which didn’t stop people from grabbing their coats and enjoying the entertainment.
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I noticed my project partner in my statistics class was spending a long time in my kitchen talking with the roommate of one of our classmates, a beautiful Italian woman.  GF noticed too and wasted no time in swooping in as soon as my statistics partner left early.  Hallelujah!  The party was officially a success.  GF met a beautiful woman that he wouldn’t have met otherwise.

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I don’t remember when GF and his Saint Faustino’s Day interest left.  But I remember quite distinctly that my last party guests didn’t leave till 4am.  And they insisted I join them wherever they were going next.  I declined, out of character for me.

I didn’t want to push my luck.  It was 4am, I was feeling better than I had in over a week, GF was happy, and I had just thrown a memorably enjoyable party.  Life was good.

So I went to bed, and woke up feeling awesome.  GF called.  No fireworks with his Saint Faustino’s Day catch, but he was happy nonetheless.  My statistics partner messaged me.  He wanted me to help him get to know this girl better.  The same girl.

Never a dull moment.

And now, they are married.  My statistics partner and the beautiful Italian girl that made such a splash at my first Saint Faustino’s Day party.  I can barely wait to tell their kids the story of how their parents met in my kitchen.  And it is all thanks to GF, and the fierce spirit of the Italians in their quest for love.  There is no occasion not worthy of pursuing potentially life-changing love, especially the day after Valentine’s Day.  Here’s to making the most of every day, especially today.  Happy Saint Faustino’s Day!!!

Visiting Las Vegas on a budget

As a Southern California native and a frequent visitor to Las Vegas, I have a love/hate relationship with the city. Expensive, commercial, hot, and crowded, it is also a destination laden with treasures and beauty that you don’t find everyday. A fellow blogger put together this fabulous Vegas guide, and I am reblogging this post because it is so rich with information regarding finding those treasures in Vegas but not spending a fortune. Hope you’ll also find it useful!

A Night in Venice

Since I started this blog I’ve known that the missing ingredient was a dash of charm and a whole lotta honesty.   It isn’t easy being totally honest with a bunch of strangers (no offense) and not-so-strangers.  So finally, here is a true story – a huge steaming plate of reality from my life as a traveler – and a stellar example of why I am in love with traveling.  I hope you enjoy.

Even rain is charming in Venice.
Even rain is charming in Venice.

A few weeks ago I was on a commuter train headed to Venice on a cold, quiet Saturday evening in Italy.  Despite the rain and my exhaustion from a long week of teaching English and a late night the night before in Bologna, I decided to follow through with my plan to catch the last day of the Venice Biennale exhibition that weekend.
My English student appeared on the train from out of nowhere, jumping on seconds before the departure.  He’s a captain with the Italian military police and was on his way home from work to his hometown of Ferrara, a short train ride from Bologna.


He sat down next to me.  “Teacher! Where are you going?”


Caught in the middle of a daydream, I had to think a moment about my answer.  “To Venice!”


He gives me a knowing look.  “Alone?  And looking so tired?”


These were legitimate questions.  But I had a good answer.  “I love to travel alone.  I always make new friends.”


He thought a moment about my answer.  “It could be.”


“But,” I continued, “tonight is going to be a quiet night at my hotel.  I am exhausted.”

Famous. Last. Words.


I was finally in my room two and a half hours later, after a long and beautiful – albeit wet – stroll to Venice’s Dorsoduro district to my hotel near the Peggy Guggenheim museum.  Too tired to put effort into my outfit, I stuck with my jeans (normally an absolute no-no for me on a Saturday night), grabbed my iPad, and set out immediately to begin the daunting task of finding a not-too-touristy restaurant for dinner.

The Peggy Guggenheim, one of my favorite museums on earth.
The Peggy Guggenheim, one of my favorite museums on earth.

Long ago a student friend of mine took me to a piazza in the Accademia area of Venice that was full of bars and restaurants.  Pretty far from Piazza San Marco, I thought this was a good bet for finding a less touristy restaurant.  Problem was, I had no idea how to get there.  And direction is not so easy in Venice.  Details!  No biggie.  I burst out of my hotel and walked in the general direction of the Accademia area.


After some helpful signs and some strategic following of the crowds around Venice’s infamous small and windy streets, I found the piazza.  Campo Santa Margherita it was called.  I was proud of myself for getting myself there.  It was buzzing with people having drinks and aperitivo and preparing for the Saturday night festivities.  Perfect.  I had an excellent 4 euro glass of wine and examined the Google map of the area on my iPad.  This is my shortcut for finding a decent restaurant on-the-go: I check out the restaurants that are actually on the Google map because they are usually good.


Google showed me three options around the Campo Santa Margherita area.  En route to the first Google option, a restaurant called Osteria alla Bifora caught my eye.  The windows were steamy, and it was packed.  The atmosphere was great…not too elegant, not too straightforward.  The menu was short and specialized.  Good.  But, no vegetarian option.  I sighed and kept walking to the Google recommendation around the corner.  A no-go: boring menu.  The next restaurant was also a no-go: bad ambiance.  I found myself walking in circles…what should I do?  I was tired, and it was getting late.


I decided to trust my gut.  I went back to the steamy restaurant with no vegetarian options.  But as soon as I walked in, my heart sank.  The seating was communal.  There was no place for a single traveler.


But, I was hungry.  I flagged down the hostess and explained my predicament in Italian. “I have two issues:  I’m a vegetarian.  And I’m alone.”  She responded, “We’ll make a vegetarian plate for you.  And…wait here.”  She approached a full table near the door and said something to a man at the table, and then returned to me. “You can sit with them.”  She pointed to the table she had just visited.  I was mortified. “No, no, that’s ok.  I just was hoping to take a chair at a table, I don’t need to join anyone.”  Her expression didn’t change.  “You can sit with them,” she repeated.  Like a deer caught in the headlights, I looked back at the table.  They were all looking at me.  The guy she had spoken to stood up and offered me his chair.  My feet carried me to the table but in my mind I was running away.
I paused for a moment at the head of the table.  I was trying to understand the situation.  Four guys and two girls.  Their girlfriends perhaps?  Are these girls going to hate me for butting in on their date night?  No time for thinking, they were waiting for me to sit down.  So I sat down.  I don’t even remember the introductions, except that they loved my name and started calling me Peggy Guggenheim.  It was all a blur.


The women were on my left.  They were Germans and also in town for the Biennale.  They didn’t know the guys either, and they didn’t speak Italian.


The guy across from me asks in Italian, “Do you like white or red?”


“Oh, whatever you are having is fine with me.”


“White?”


“Sure.  I’ll pay you back after.”


He gave me a little wave of disagreement and shouted to the waitress, “A bottle of prosecco!”


And that is when my vision of a quiet night officially came to a screeching halt.


The guys were very Northern Italian looking.  Their light complexions and elegant dress were a welcome change from Bologna, a university town full of casually dressed students from across Italy.   They told me they were from Venice.  Wow.  Awesome.


And what commenced can only be described as a feast.  We enjoyed a cross-continental multi-lingual dinner over platters of one of everything on the menu and never-ending prosecco.  And no one would touch my veggie plate, so I had it all to myself.

A platter at Osteria alla Bifora
A platter at Osteria alla Bifora.

“You’re fun!” says the German girl next to me.  “Come with us to the Biennale tomorrow!”
“But tonight, you guys are going dancing with us!” said the guy across from me.
“It depends where,” I responded.  Venice is not known for its night life.
The guy at the end of the table who had given me his chair chimed in. “It is a beautiful place.  You will love it.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Then came the after dinner drinks.  We played a bit of musical chairs, put the new Daft Punk album on my iPad, and the party was on.  Even the restaurant owner’s dog came over to join us.  The hostess was watching me from across the room.  She seemed surprised things had worked out so well.  Somehow, I wasn’t.  My gut had known it.

After dinner drinks come with a cookie.
After dinner drinks come with a cookie.

Finally, the moment arrived.  To dance, or not to dance.  Did I really have a choice?


I left this restaurant that I had entered alone just hours earlier, now accompanied by six new friends.  We walked back across the piazza, through the windy Venetian streets, across the Grand Canal, and then I lost track.  At the end of a small, dark street, a handsomely dressed man beckoned us into a beautiful, unmarked building.  I found myself in a sea of wealthy Venetians in a gorgeous room I can only liken to a lounge at the Four Seasons Hotel.  And there I was, just a normal girl from El Centro, California.  In my jeans.


But I only worried about my state of being under dressed for a few seconds before other priorities took over: having fun.  Music, dancing, new friends, mingling.  But eventually the reality of life began to dawn on me and I realized my carriage was about to turn into a pumpkin.  Problem was, my carriage didn’t know how to get home.  Details.  Again.
I remembered hearing that the guy that had given me his seat at the restaurant, Adrian, lived near my hotel.  And, as my luck that night would have it, he was incredibly crushable.  Well, let’s just be honest.  I already had a crush on him.


And then, as if he had read my mind, Adrian appeared out of nowhere.  “Peggy!!”


“You’re walking me home, right?” I responded.


“Of course!”


My new friends and I left the club together, and then as quickly as they had come into my life, they disappeared.  It was just Adrian and I crossing back over the Grand Canal.  And I can now say, with certainty, that the romance of Venice is not just a myth.  Whatever it is, whatever it was, we took the long way home.


And then, the knocking and shouting of the hotel maid asking if I needed a clean towel. The sun was up, everything was as I had left it.  No sign at all of of my beautiful night in Venice.


I got up.  I went to the Biennale.  It was amazing.  And as I was walking back to my hotel, I got a text.  It was Adrian.
So I guess it wasn’t a dream.  But I haven’t seen any of my new friends again.  I’ve had nights like these before…Dublin, Brooklyn, Denver, Rimini, Paris, Stockholm…but somehow Venice has been the most unforgettable.

The next day, a quiet Sunday in Venice.
The next day, a quiet Sunday in Venice.

The hardest thing about these incredible experiences and finding these wonderful people in their own environments is accepting that these experiences are unique, like a gift from the heavens.  And trying to recreate them is like playing with fate.


But that doesn’t mean a girl can’t have a little hope.


I think the next one will be sooner than later.  And if so, you’ll be the first to know…

Budapest, Hungary

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.

But instead, the reverse was true. My trip was brimming with food (Centrál Kávéház, Hummus Bar, Koleves Vendéglo), fun (Jewish Quarter, Andrássy Boulevard), friends, culture (The Great Synagogue, Museum of Ethnography, Freedom Square) , and – of course – nightlife (Szimpla Kert, Rudas Thermal Baths).

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.

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Best of Budapest, a set on Flickr.

Sun in Santos

Monique is a great friend of mine from San Diego, and also one of the most adventurous people I know.  Every time I talk with her she is on another adventure, whether it be giving up everything she has and moving to Canada, breaking into the theatre scene in Portland, Oregon, or giving screenwriting a try.  When I asked her what her favorite travel memory was for her contribution to our traveler page, this is the memory that she included.  She was so specific with everything she loved about Santos, that I asked her to write a post about it.  Thanks Monique!


This is a story about one of my favorite trips to Santos, Brazil.  Several years ago I played capoeira and my teacher took a few of us to his home town in Santos. We stayed at a cute little hotel run by one of his friends. We got breakfast every morning complete with fresh fruit and juices. It was right around the corner from an arboretom, Orquidário de Santos and a short walk to the beach.


We went to the beach nearly ever day. I’d always have to stop for fresh squeezed sugar cane juice from a vendor parked next to the beach bike path. We felt spoiled laying out in the sun, with vendors getting us anything we needed: food, drinks (alcohol included), umbrellas, and chairs. One of my teacher’s friends was a pro surfer that started the first surf school in Santos. People would donate old equipment so kids could have something to learn on. He also made surf boards at the school. We had a couple of lessons and I learned how to surf for the first time!

The main purpose of the trip was to visit his teacher’s studio as well as a couple of other studios, but we hardly spent any time playing. Instead we were at the beach, shopping, sightseeing and just enjoying the people. My teacher is well-known in his city and we couldn’t go anywhere without someone calling out to say hi to him. That also meant we met a lot of fun people who took care of us and showed us around. I started getting recognized and people would wave hello to me. I was becoming a local.


One Saturday night we went to an amazing fish dinner. We crossed the water in little ferry boats to favelas on an island.  It took place in this large backyard of a family. They sold tickets which included the meal, as well as live music and dancing. In the back were a few vendors selling jewelry. I bought one of my favorite bracelets from a nice lady that made it by hand. The next week I saw her as we came out of a little shopping center in Gonzaga. She greeted me as if I was an old friend she hadn’t seen for a while.


We did quite a bit of sight-seeing, including visiting São Vicente.  We got in an ample amount of dancing, videoke, and live music. On my last night there, we danced the night away at a club on this small island just off the coast. The view was amazing!


The trip was just so much fun. I could easily see myself staying there. Did I mention how beautiful it was and the abundance of fresh fruit? Needless to say I cried when I boarded the bus to come home.

Reason 1,024,862 I love Italy: Dancing in a piazza on a Sunday night


Yes, it is Sunday night. Of course most of us have work or school commitments tomorrow. But why should that stop us from having fun? This is the Italian way – fun is never completely out of reach. Which is reason number 1,024,862 why I love living in Italy.
Last Sunday night during a stroll with a few friends after a soccer match, we ran into some other friends on the street. We happened to have a bottle of wine and an iPad (the perfect combination), so why not? We headed to the nearest piazza, called Piazza San Francesco, which is an especially popular spring and summer evening destination for young people in Bologna.
And just an hour later, we suddenly found ourselves dancing across the piazza as if we were the next contestants on “So You Think You Can Dance.” As you can see from the above picture, the scene wasn’t perfect due to some safety reinforcements after the latest quake to hit Bologna. But this is only a small detail and easily overcome. The church next to the piazza still stands tall, proud, and beautiful. And what could be better than having a whole piazza as your dance floor?

I never thought I’d be uttering those words. But now I couldn’t imagine life without a bottle of wine, an iPad, great friends, and a piazza. 🙂