open air history

During my recent trip to Sanok, the town where my mother grew up and where I spent many childhood summers, we took a trip to one of the largest open air museums. Skansen museum, established in 1958, recreates 19th and early 20th century life in this region of Poland. You begin to understand the simplicity and often the hardship of life so many years ago. Along with our tour guide, and my mom who herself studied ethnography, we explored this long forgotten world.

The tour begins with a replica of a Galician town square from the second half of the 19th century.

A historic tailor shop and pharmacy…

Even a horologist, with quite a sense of humor.

Each section features an ethnic group who lived in the region prior to the post-WWII resettlements.

As I walked in and around these dwellings, I imagined the lives that once inhabited them.

Amidst the homes and churches we discovered elaborately sculpted bee urns.

There too was an exhibition of long lost Jewish treasures, some of the few that remain.

Within the stillness of Skansen, I better understood the history of this part of the world.

year three

Today marks three years since I arrived to Paris. Filled with lightness and love. Ready to begin a new chapter. Unaware of the challenges ahead as the hopeful optimist won over the practical realist. How am I feeling as I reflect on the last three years of my life as an expat in Paris? Finally, at home.

Year one was the hardest of all. Refining myself and discovering my place within a new context.

Year two was all about establishing myself and building a new life. A year of growth.

Year three, at least to me, is much about letting go and accepting the idea of ‘home’. I still struggle with calling Paris my home. Wasn’t it after all, New York where I became who I am, and where so much of me still resides? Or so I thought. Until the realization struck that home is a feeling as much as it’s a place. When I am in NYC, with it’s energy and motion I feel at home, and perhaps always will. But what I have now come to accept is that my home too, is Paris with it’s cobbled streets and history, Monterosso with it’s coastal charm, and Sanok which holds the key to my ancestry.

Most of all, this last year in Paris has taught me that we learn to define ourselves, not simply by the places in which we live, but also by the people we surround ourselves with, our interests and hobbies, our travels and experiences. And equally, the celebrations and hardships that accompany this journey. Paris is now as much a home to me as New York, and I am even more richly defined.

mountain escape

This year my Italian planned an unimaginable birthday getaway. Nothing like the surprise trip of two years ago in Tuscany. From Paris we flew to Verona, and drove North, the air more fresh and the scenery more spectacular as the elevation rose. Still, I hadn’t a clue as to our final destination.

The drive was long and winding, until finally the mountains settled upon us.

We drove on until we reached what was to become our home… and our view.

Alpe di Suisi. High up in the Dolomites, elevation of over 2,000 meters. Breathtaking!

Time now to relax and enjoy the views? Not exactly. My Italian had other plans. Ready, set… hike!

And hike we did. My birthday was spent at a height of over 2,500 meters, feeling very accomplished!

The day concluded with a lengthy sauna and gourmet dinner. On all accounts, the perfect birthday.

The next day, feeling rather ambitious, we decided to hike an even greater mountain, Monte Pez.

After nearly 3 hours, we reached Rifugio Bolzano, 2457 meters high, and a well deserved lunch.

I will fondly recall these days spent in the mountains, for many years to come. Forever grateful.

summer celebrations

These days I have much to celebrate. Even simply the path that led me to the city of lights. It’s now nearing 3 years since my move to Paris and the start of my blog, which came to life shortly before that. And inevitably I’m soon to be another year older, on July 29th to be exact. Since Leos love to celebrate, and my Italian knows this well, he has planned a surprise birthday adventure. Four days exploring an unknown landscape. Where, I haven’t a clue, and I am happy not to know. Soon the adventure begins…

For the rest of our time away, I will be sitting beneath the shade of these umbrellas, on the beaches of Monterosso, staring at the sea. Celebrating all that I am grateful for.

lardo di Colonnata

A trip to the marble mountains wouldn’t be complete without a stop to Colonnata, the ancient village which lies in the midst of marble at the feet of the Apuan Alps.

It is not simply this white stone that the village is know for, but another white delicacy called Lardo di Colonnata, pork fat. Having no intention of tasting this particularity, I went in search of gelato.

Needless to say, in this part of Italy, I was limited to savory, not sweet.

As we explored the village beneath the summer sun, we sought shelter at an enoteca. Very innocently the owner asked us if we’d like a little tasting. Of lardo, of course. Well, just once…

Not only was this buttery delicacy mouth-watering, but we were given a lesson in it’s making. Lardo is created by curing strips of fatback with rosemary and other herbs and spices, where it lies beneath marble for many months. Did we order more, with 2 glasses of wine to compliment? But of course!

I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this local specialty. Not something to eat often, but if you’re a meat eater, certainly something to try at least once. It’s worth a trip up to the mountains!

marble mountains

Do mountains made of marble really exist? But of course. Naturally, in Italy, where most surreal beauty seems to originate. I have observed these white tipped mountain peaks many a time enroute to Monterosso. But it was just recently that I had a chance to explore them up close. The same marble that so many years earlier Michelangelo hand selected for his sculptures.

It was a spontaneous trip. We drove and drove… into the white of Cararra.

Alone on the road. The majesty of the mountains became ours to savour.

Even a few chipped pieces of marble became ours to save. Next stop, Colonnata….

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