Pasquetta

One of my favorite holidays growing up was Easter. Not simply for the American tradition of the ‘Easter Bunny’ and a basket filled with chocolates and jelly beans. (My mother being Polish I rarely received these goodies and took to making my own candy-filled basket.) In addition to blessing a basket filled with eggs, sausage and a lamb made of butter, my Easter celebration consisted of sitting around a table with elderly Polish ladies, taking mental notes on their life stories, and painting eggs, called pisanki. My mom’s always being the most beautiful and elaborate. These eggs, symbolizing the revival of nature,  were meant to be proudly displayed in your basket and shared with friends and family. (In our case, we used them to raise money for the Polish school which I attended.) I grew to love this tradition.

Since my life is now heavily influenced by Italian customs, my Easter celebrations have become even more tasty and varied. Last year we celebrated with my family in the US, along with a blessed basket of Polish delicacies, and a dove-shaped Colomba from Italy, a sweet bread that you can spend all day nibbling on. This year we spent Pasqua with the Italians, in Monterosso. I was lucky enough to share in the chocolate egg tradition, a huge festively wrapped dark chocolate egg revealing a surprise.

Being both a fan of chocolate and surprises I unwrapped the egg with the anticipation of a child. Following tradition, I ‘cracked’ open the egg, found my hand-painted trinket inside, and the chocolate feast began! (And could very well continue for many days…)

The Monday following Pasqua is called Pasquetta, “Little Easter”. A day in which people venture out, plan picnics, visit friends… and of course, eat! I tend to believe this day is reserved for finishing the chocolate egg…

all aboard

What I love about traveling is not merely arriving to the destination but the actual movement from one place to another. The travel. While on the road for 13 months I embraced this ‘time inbetween‘, as it allowed me to reflect on the places seen and to anticipate those waiting to be discovered. Many 12 hour plane rides gave me plenty of time to muse, but it is via train, traveling over land (and perhaps under sea), that I always feel most connected to the journey. Put me on a train, and I am happy. (Even simply the Long Island Rail Road or these days, the Trenitalia.)

My most memorable train ride to date was 48 hours enroute from Lhasa, Tibet to Beijing. I could have easily flown and spent more time exploring China’s capital, but I chose the option of adventure.

With only my thoughts to accompany me, I observing as the worlds of Tibet and China converged in my midst. I was one of a handful of Westerners and shared my sleeping cabin with 2 Chinese men, a Tibetan, and a few good books. My conversations were limited to very basic English as I taught the Tibetan man to play backgammon and in turn he taught me a Tibetan game.

I became a voyeur. Much of my time was spent observing life on the train.

The dining cabin became my ‘room with a view’. The landscape my vista.

The sun rose and night fell. And again. I could have easily spent another 2 days enroute.

One day I hope to board the Orient Express to destinations unknown… But these days I will happily settle for the night train from Paris to Venice.

fruitful days

I am beginning to know the seasons according to the fruits they bear. For the past two years I have looked forward to the Fall for the grape harvest, one which I whole-heartedly participate in, picking, stomping and eventually, drinking the wine. Now, as Winter has turned to Spring, the last of the oranges and many a lemon fill the landscape, ripe for the picking, and tasting. The olive trees patiently await their turn, as do the grape vines, barren of any signs of life.

As I busy myself picking the most succulent of fruit, careful not to step on a strawberry patch as I admire the view of the sea, my Italian’s father carefully grafts the grape vines, anticipating the upcoming harvest. He returns daily to the land, to nurture seeds he has planted, or to plant new ones. I am fascinated by the evolution taking place before my eyes, and understand well what drives the soul to the seed. Very simply, it’s the satisfaction of assisting in the miracle of creation. And certainly, enjoying the fruits of your labor.

In the coming months the yellows and oranges will be replaced by the reds of strawberries and cherries. These blossoms will have metamorphosed into peaches. And I will be there to pick them.

scenes of a village

I first discovered Monterosso during my trip around the world over 3 years ago. It was a seredipitous encounter, completely unplanned. I fell in love immediately. It’s hard not to, being surrounded by so much natural beauty. Little did I know, it was a place I would come to call home.

These days, my Italian and I are settling into life in a village. Home on the Mediterranean. Spending time with family, making wedding arrangements and taking time to taste the oranges hanging in the trees and listen to the sounds of the church bells. It is these scenes that currently compose my life.

Paris feels very far away.

homage to the grape

This past week I learned how to harvest wine grapes. In Monterosso. With my Italian and his father, who has been harvesting for decades. Last year, I merely assisted in stomping the grapes, surely as much fun as it sounds (and largely a tourist attraction I might add). This year, I became a true laborer of the land. Little did I know the travail of such sweet work. And the fulfillment that follows.

Harvesting began at 8am. The view itself was worth the early rise. Acres of stepped land, locally referred to as poggi, covered by vines and olive trees. I was wide awake, as were all other forms of wildlife, namely flies resembling wild mosquitos and sneaky little salamanders. No fear. I took to the task at hand and in meditative rhythm the grape cutting began. With intermittent tasting, to ensure quality of course.

The picking continued for three hours, filling over 12 huge crates. We had finished one piece of land but two more remained. It appeared this harvest was much larger than the last, though the grapes were not as high a quality. Thus sciacchetra (my favorite local dessert wine of Cinque Terre) could not be produced. But white wine would flow!

After a well earned home-cooked meal of pasta and fish followed by a nap on the beach (harvesting is exhausting!) it was time to press the grapes. This part I love. I feel fortunate that my Italian’s father has not modernized the technique. It’s still a very hands on, or in this case, ‘feet on’ experience. 

With great care we crushed the grapes as my Italian’s father collected the juice to add to the 300 liter boiler. Almost as quickly as we finished our grape dance the container was filled. Soon the boiling would begin.

The following day our ‘homage to the grape’ continued. Picking. Eating. Stomping. In 3 months time we drink! I will forever appreciate a glass of wine. Especially one from the Poggi Harvest of 2010.

sharing the {blog} love

It is almost one year since I began a life of love in Paris, and Love in the City of Lights was born. What a journey it has been! Little did I know what I would learn and who I would encounter along the way, and all the friends I would make in between.

Through the experience of sharing my life with fellow expats and even a few hopeful romantics, I have come to know Paris, its culture and its people more intimately. I still struggle to understand (and accept) the many French cultural nuances, but I feel much more at home and much less an outsider. For these fellow bloggers (and many others not mentioned), and my dear readers, I am very grateful. I share this love with fellow bloggers, francophiles around the world, and Paris expats.

One of my first virtual friendships was with Andi of Misadventures with Andi, who blogs about many of my favorite subjects including travel, culture, love and of course Paris, always keeping the conversation varied and interesting. I hope to meet in person on her next trip to Paris! 

On the topic of life in Paris, so many I love! Beth Arnold I have come to know and admire for her sophisticated and unprecedented Letter From Paris. Lindsey, of Lost in Cheeseland shares many an anecdote on life as an expat, often with humor and always with candor. For the latest in goings on in the City of Lights, Kim inspires with I Heart Paris. Many secrets and cultural happenings are revealed by Heather in Secrets of Paris. The stories and visual poetry by Nichole of little brown pen, living between Paris and NJ, always cause me to feel lucky to live surrounded by so much beauty. Though many don’t realize it until living here, Paris is indeed imperfect and Sion brings this to light in Paris (Im)perfect. Marjorie, who is neither French nor has ever lived in France, writes my inner French girl, describing the French art of living. That undeniable je ne sais quoi that is so inherently French!

Of the mommy club which I am not yet a part, but have several expat friends who are, Barbara writes a very real and witty blog about the experience of living and raising children in a foreign country in International Mama. As a super Mama and freelance writer, she also writes The Expat Freelancer to help expat writers find their voice and use it. Another saavy American mama with many a story to tell to aspiring expat mothers is La Mom.

On the topic of food, everyone knows (or should know) David Lebovitz for his appetizing site about all things food related and author of The Sweet Life. I met David at a sexy book signing and hope to cross paths again over crepes at Breizh Cafe. For those with a sweet tooth, Cat, otherwise known as Little Miss Cupcake, creates the most delectable cupcakes! About where and what to eat (as the amount of dining options can be daunting) a wonderful new site recently launched, aptly titled Paris By Mouth. Food porn anyone? Through a good friend I met Cynthia, a writer and adventurous foodie from LA who writes about exactly that in Adventure Eating. All that eating but where to drink? Forest keeps a detailed account of the tastiest cocktails and happiest happy hours in 52 Martinis. 

On the topic of travel, one of my favorites, there’s a blog I simply love which bridges the gap between France and Italy, both of which I now consider my homes. Robin, a travel consultant and writer with great travel taste, captures the essence of two of the most beautiful countries in My Melange. I am also a fervent follower of the travels of  Granturismo, Lara and Terence, as they travel for 12 months in 24 destinations. Instant nostalgia for my 2007 travels, 13 months in 32 destinations.

New York City will always remain home to me (considering I now have 3, and counting). To keep myself connected to this dynamic city I begin my mornings with a café creme and a cup of Jo, much loved blog by fashionista and new mommy, Joanna Goddard. There are many more NYC blogs I read, including the inspiring and design saavy my turtleneck by Catherine Mangosing of Brooklyn.

I’m looking forward to discovering many more blogs, meeting many more bloggers and fellow expats, and continued adventures and musings on life and love in Paris in year two!

visions of Tuscany

We made our way from Pisa to Volterra in the late afternoon sun, destination unknown. At least to me. The element of suspense is equally unsettling and thrilling, I focused on the latter. Driving along a tangle of dirt roads we approached a house set upon a landscape of olive trees and rolling hills. Immediately I exclaimed ‘Wow, it’s my dream to stay in a place like this!’ ‘Do you think to be a princess?’, replied my Italian with a smile. (Did I really need to answer that?) It was my birthday after all. Needless to say, this agriturismo Podere San Lorenzo, a vision of Tuscany, became home.

For the next few days I was indeed a princess. Tuscan menus tasting of truffles, trips to nearby San Gimignano, drives in the Chianti region…(Aside from my actual birthday in which the weather gods were seeking vengeance, but let’s focus on the visions contributing to the fairytale.)

As far as birthdays go, this is one I will always cherish. And not simply for the landscapes.

destination unknown

When I first moved to NYC I reveled in the unpredictability of every day. Who I would meet, what I would encounter, what thoughts would fill my eager and curious mind. I was filled with faith in myself and trust in the world. Most of the time. Then again, I was 22 and looked at life as one big adventure. It was all about the journey. I didn’t want to know what would happen. Ever. 

The journey has indeed been an interesting one. Having recently followed my heart from NYC to Paris, my life has proven unpredictable in ways I could not have imagined. (Thankfully I was never one to stick to a predetermined plan but rather let destiny play a role). Now, being older and dare I say wiser than those first formative years in NYC, I continue to remind myself of the beauty in the unknown. And how boring life would be if we knew all the answers.

Tomorrow is my birthday. My Italian has planned a surprise trip to where else but Tuscany, one of the most beautiful landscapes in the world. Little did I know how royally I would be celebrating this day, or any of the events that led me to this life, for that matter. Where we are going I don’t know. Nor do I want to. Now or ever. I am far too busy enjoying the journey to worry about the destination.

passion for travel

There are certain passions or interests, that bond people. Whether it be friends, companions, or those you choose to share your life with. One such passion (the word ‘interest’ simply does not fit here), is my love for travel.

Some of my dearest friends share this passion, leading us to have collected quite an array of travel stories through the years, which we reminisce and laugh about as often as possible. (Beware those not part of the travel clique!) One such story begins in Amsterdam on the eve of the millenium and ends in a castle in Scotland just last week…

Since my first trip to Poland at the age of 2, before my lips could properly utter sentences in either Polish or English, my eyes became larger and more curious. For this I thank my parents. I became fascinated with foreign tastes and sounds, even those as simple as wild strawberries from my grandmother’s garden, and certain vegetables I still can’t find anywhere else in the world. I began to love the energy of movement, being able to play with time, as you pass from one time zone to another. As a child, and even up until a few years ago, I dared not sleep en route, in order to savour the sacred anticipation prior to arrival or reflection upon departure. Now I am more than happy to sleep and wake up rested. (Older or simply wiser?)

When I first met my Italian, aside from the short and sweet exchange that caused a lengthy conversation to ensue (it wasn’t simply his sexy accent that did the trick), we spoke all about travel. As fate would have it, during my around-the-world trip I had spent a memorable 5 days in the village of his birth, Monterosso, and was very pleased to express my enthusiasm for this ‘paradise found’. This village has since become my second home. It was in fact his sense of adventure, having arrived to NYC for a holiday, that led our paths to cross. It was not yet our time during my stay in Monterosso. Yes, patience is a virtue.

Our most memorable (and first) trip to date was Corsica last June. We explored the southern region of this enchanted island, also known as the Île de Beauté. A perfect mix of natural wilderness in the form of uninhabited beaches and needle-shaped mountains. Most spectacular was Bonifacio with it’s majestic cliffs and old town overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Surely a place in which to lose yourself in a myriad of natural landscapes. The dream of Corsica shall soon continue as we are planning to explore the northern region this summer.

Along with this passion for travel which has surely bonded us, comes our affinity for foreign foods, natural beauty, ancient history (more him) and various forms of art (more me). Am I missing anything?

the life of a village

I recently spent a week in Monterosso, home to my Italian. My first taste of this Ligurian village, hidden on the Mediterranean coast, was during my year of travel. I’m not exactly certain who or what propelled me to visit this cluster of villages, known to much of the world as ‘Cinque Terre’, known to me as paradise. I fell in love immediately, particularly with Monterosso and it’s landscape. It’s difficult not to, as anyone who has been to this part of the world knows well. I remember during those days imagining the life of a local, living in a population of no more than 1,700, recognizing each face that passes by in the streets, the only foreign faces being those of seasonal tourists. How would it feel living so isolated from the world, in constant familiarity, a lack of privacy in social affairs, the life of a village. At once fascinating and impossible to imagine coming from a place like NYC.

During this week spent eating, meeting, and always observing, the village appeared to wake up from its winter slumber. I began to look from the inside rather than as an outsider or tourist. It was my third visit and this one felt much more like being at home. All thanks to my Italian and his family. I began to understand the people and the way of life, to feel the intimacy that they shared, if not understand what they said. Each region of Italy contains its own dialect, and one day when I speak Italian (after mastering French of course) I will still not understand the Ligurian locals. But I will continue to say ‘Ciao’ in passing and smile as though I have lived here all my life.

There is much to explore in this region, a true haven to hikers and nature lovers. As I did during my first visit, but now with much greater an appreciation and insight, we took the local train to Riomaggiore, the eastern most village.

From there we hiked to Manarola, considered the most scenic of the five villages. Breath-taking!

Back ‘home’ to Monterosso, saving Corniglia and Vernazza for a Summer tour via boat. It was time to climb the terraces, known as ‘poggi’ and pick lemons and oranges in the family orchard….

 Do as the locals do. Well, almost.

a taste of Napoli

I have been missing the intensity and energy of New York City. The constant buzz in the air and movement on the ground. A dose of Napoli is exactly what I needed, and away we flew to this city in the South of Italy, unlike any I had ever experienced. Quite a contrast to the calm and order of Paris. Might I add that what I love about living in Paris is the proximity to so many diverse and fascinating worlds, merely hours away via train or plane. Needless to say, within NYC exists a composition of cultures, but there is nothing like complete immersion in the place of origin.

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Five days and nights were spent safely tucked away in the Spanish Quarter, next door to a convent. This hidden neighborhood is discovered by few but curious to many. On all sides we were surrounded by reckless kids on motorbikes, often 3 to a bike, peddlers selling designer goods and electronics purchased from ‘borrowed’ credit cards. Fresh produce is plentiful and sold in wooden crates for mere centimes. Napoli is a city in which people live by their wits and where rules don’t apply. I felt high on this air of chaos, or was it the endless nocciolatos that caused my heart to beat at such a pace? And let me not begin to speak about the pasta…I have discovered the soul of Naples.

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The calm after the storm was Capri, an island of intense beauty and serenity. An ideal place in which to digest the many sensations of the South as we head back to a dream of another sort.

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foreign flavors

The beginning of my Parisian life has proven a proper foreign adventure. The first few weeks have tasted of many flavors other than French, the sweet and savored tastes of family. We traveled to the South of Poland where my roots are firmly planted. Deep in the woods of Bykowce, the place of my youth and still now, my place.

A brief return to Paris and away we flew to taste of Northern Italy. More family and feasting, the setting of this dream in Monterosso on the Mediterranean, his place. The experiences defining dreams and reality are becoming more vague, and I willfully allow myself to be taken. The adventures seem endless as our respective cultures meet and mingle, creating an even more resplendent reality.

Cinque Terre

As Lisa returned to the normalcy of life in NYC and Sooji ventured to Barcelona, time was now my own and I decided to remain on the Italian Riviera. A short stop away from Santa Margherita I embarked on the village of Monterosso, one of the five villages of Cinque Terre. Hidden in the mountains overlooking the Mediterranean, I had discovered paradise. A day on the beach with my thoughts and a myriad of fond recollections…followed by a day of hiking through the most breathtaking vistas my eyes have seen (at least in this part of the world), followed by another day of the beach. A sunset upon the calm of a turquoise sea in a land far removed from anything that resembles reality is not easy to part with.



Camogli



My newly adopted Italian family, (aka Lele’s family), with whom Lisa and I became a natural extension, took us to the nearby town of Camogli for a day trip, and a grand feast. Another dream lived upon the Italian Riviera.

Portofino

Our room with a view of the Santa Margherita panorama…


In Portofino we were joined by Lisa’s boyfriend Lele and his business school colleagues for a weekend sailing regatta. Italy is no doubt best experienced with the Italians, and we were fortunate to share this time with Lele and his family from Rome. The 4-course meals coupled with wine continued with this most gracious family, in a setting of warmth and royal splendor. Perhaps I was Italian once…or hope to be in the next life.

Venice


As this was Lisa’s most awaited holiday and Sooji and I had at this point become professional travelers, we planned a few days in Venice, one of the most unique, romantic (and touristy) cities in the world. We also ventured via Ferry to Murano, the island of glass, where we learned the fascinating process of glass blowing. I now have a new admiration for the art of glass! There is no better place than Venice to become tangled in the cobblestones and canals with two of my favorite girls in all the world…

Milan!

It is time now to write the chapter of Italy, where Sooji and I reunited with Fabio and my dearest Lisa joined from NYC. The privileged life continues! Upon arrival to Milan, Fabio was the warmest host and we immediately felt at home in his grand apartment that was evidently well suited for three female visitors. I dare say he did not want us to leave! Aside from my cold caught between the air of Krakow and Hamburg, and Lisa’s undeniable jet-lag, we had a fabulous time indulging in long evenings of pasta and wine, and afternoons of Gelato and more wine…

The first of many meals shared in Italy…with wine in hand!

On Sunday we joined Fabio for an afternoon drive to Lake Como where we were invited to a picnic. After Fabio demonstrated his skill at water-skiing, we sat in the sun and basked in the ‘art of doing nothing’, something that has clearly originated in Italy.

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