I have my three inch pointy-toed pumps perfect for work attire. They make my legs look longer in pencil skirts, and allow my pants to stay off the ground. In New York I replaced them every three months since I walked through the heels and constantly scuffed up the toe.

I own numerous other four inch heels in a variety of colors and patterns. I cannot resist cute shoes. It used to be my therapy; when I was depressed or angry about work I would go shoe shopping. I must have been pretty depressed often if my current shoe collection dictates that. My favorite pair of shoes are a pair of stilettos with a pointy toe that are zebra printed and are…well, for lack of a more technical term, furry. I love them.

When I traveled through Europe I couldn’t bring my shoe collection. I remember sitting in my nearly bare apartment with my backpack filling up and picking through my shoes wondering which ones I would take. I chose a pair of black leather flats which could be good “going out” shoes, a pair of black flipflops and a pair of my merrill walking shoes. I figured they’d be plenty for my adventures. More than enough, really.

Then I started going on hikes. I clambered up rocks to Priekestolen, hiked through muddy trails in the rain storms of Scotland, wandered out to an abandoned monastery in Granada and hiked several mountains in Morocco, including up the Todra Gorge near Tinerhir (Tin-er-rear). The problem with these walking shoes was that they lacked traction, they lacked the ability to keep water out for more than a minute, and weren’t very good from protecting my feet from pointy rocks. Whenever I was out wearing them, I was usually pretty miserable and was wondering why I did not prepare myself better.

I have never video blogged (vlogged) before, but I started watching over my videos from Europe the other night, getting all nostalgic for traveling again, and found one of me walking through the gorge, which was amazingly beautiful in all it’s red-brown sandy vastness, where I actually had a full conversation with my camera. Sure, it’s rather short, and it probably shows that at about month two and a half of being alone, I had indeed started talking to myself, but it is a vlog nonetheless. Also, please notice that I even use hand gestures when talking TO MYSELF. Towards the end you can see my shadow and that one arm just flailing about. I do this all the time while talking on the phone, imagine me in person!

For my next trip I definitely plan on wearing smarter, more sensible shoes but for now, I will continue wearing my non-sensible shoes that are ridiculously cute, if not very bad for my feet and ankles! I will also continue to dream about the Louboutin’s I will one day own.

What’s your favorite pair of shoes?

Today I am participating in Where in the World Wednesdays, Classy in Philadelphia’s awesome weekly series. In honor of this past weekend’s World Cup match featuring Spain and the Netherlands, two of my favorite places in the world, I’m going to feature both today. I’m sad that the Netherlands lost, but glad Spain, an equally deserving team, won! These will just be pictures with brief descriptions, no time today for a real post!

The idea of WITWW is to post a picture of you in someplace in the world…it doesn’t have to be somewhere foreign or tropical. Just a picture of you somewhere that you consider traveling.

We will start in Amsterdam…

Bikes and canals...the epitome of Amsterdam!

The Red Light District at night

This is the guy I was traveling with. He was having a REALLY bad trip off a special brownie and this was day two of babysitting him.

I love Amsterdam. Seriously.

This is the Anne Frank Huis, one of the best museums I've ever been to. So powerful. DO NOT MISS THIS if you go to Amsterdam!

And moving onto Spain…

I discovered the wonders of siestas, hammocks and wine in the middle of the day in Seville.

Seville was magical

Loved the little streets with beautiful architecture everywhere you went in Seville

Nerja: only the most beautiful, relaxing place on earth.

I hiked out to an abandonned monastery while I was in Granada. The scenery was so beautiful and the monastery was awesome!

View out over the city of Granada from the Alhambra

The Alhambra at sunset. Gorgeous!

Barcelona was amazing. La Boqueria along Las Ramblas was a great market where I got fresh fruit smoothies daily.

I hate to say it, but the touristy attraction at the Placa Espanya, a fountain light show with music, was really fun to go see!

Park Guell, designed by Gaudi, was one of the highlights from my trip to BCN!

I was sitting on a lawn chair on someone’s driveway completely stuffed full of good BBQ, an amateur fireworks show put on by mostly kids was going off in front of me (and overhead) and the wide expanse of stars looking down on me and I thought, I could live here. I could do this.

I almost didn’t go. Even as I was packing up the car on Thursday morning I was pondering whether I really should be making this eight hour trek north to visit my friend whom I had just seen in April for Easter. Especially when I hadn’t started my job yet and I hadn’t gotten any unemployment money. As my friend said, “Can I ask you with what money are you here with?!” I wasn’t really sure but I wanted a getaway for a weekend, and I got one.

I am glad I decided to go, despite the horrendous eight hours it takes to drive up there. It should be illegal for me to drive while bored (DWB?) because I tend to text, eat, drink and basically start looking around to see if I can spot ANYTHING of excitement. I’m a danger to Wyoming residents. That is, if there were any. The roads luckily are pretty empty so driving while bored isn’t so hazardous, except maybe to bunnies or baby cows. (None of which were harmed while driving!)

The majority of the weekend was spent relaxing, something which I am always guaranteed when I come to visit. I can sleep in, I can take my time in the morning getting ready and I don’t have anything pressing to do during the day. We took drives into town, had lunch at the Bread Bowl, a great sandwich place and took drives through the country while her two year old napped. I’m not sure how good quality these naps were considering the one we took on a certain Stagecoach Road was about as terrifying as a drive could get. Dirt roads, hairpin turns, steep drop-offs and a lot of squealing coming from the two girls in the front seats. Somehow she slept through all this.

When we weren’t relaxing or driving around, we were drinking and having a grand old time. Friday night we decided to go to La Comida, a local mexican joint we always go to when I come visit. I had a mexican margarita and just one was enough to get me drunk. Add on a couple glasses of wine and I was good to go. We had a dance party in her living room, complete with cowboy hats and a fox stole that made its way around the room. Luckily, there is photographic evidence of this crazy dance party:

We went to street fairs, baked cakes and pies and laughed a lot. Cody apparently is big on parades so on Sunday, the Fourth of July, we got up early and headed into town to watch the parade. There were a lot of horses, tractors and marching bands with cowboy hats on, a very different approach to a parade than any I’ve been to! Sunday afternoon we headed out of town to go to a BBQ at a family friend’s ranch. The scenery was gorgeous, only enhanced by the beautiful evening weather we were having. There was tons of food and conversation and at the end of the evening we all found ourselves in lawn chairs under the stars, watching a fireworks display put on by a couple adults and all the kids in the front yard.

It had been decided when I arrived that I would stay an extra day so that I could also go to the party Kira’s family was having on Monday evening. Since I didn’t have to work until Wednesday, I agreed with them on staying and so Monday morning I woke up bright and early and went for a hike with her dad, uncle, cousin and her brother in law and his family. It was supposedly a nice easy to moderate hike. I am never trusting her father again. I nearly broke myself climbing up Heart Mountain, a beautiful hike that nearly caused me to need a hip replacement. It wasn’t any harder than ones I’ve been on before, yet for some reason my hip started to ache about 3/4 of the way to the top. The beautiful views helped distract me from the pain but barely dulled it since the pain lasted for the rest of the day and well into yesterday’s drive home.

I climbed to the very top of that mountain.

The view from the top

That evening after taking a long hot shower, we had the second party which involved even more great food, including my Tres Leches cake. We sat around talking and laughing over something or other, Kira and I texted each other while sitting next to each other and at the end of the night we shot off fireworks in her driveway.

This blog post doesn’t even begin to properly sum up what a fun weekend it was. There were more inside jokes made, a ton of food eaten and beautiful scenery all around. Sometimes I think I’d like to live in a small town like that, to live in wide open spaces and know everyone in town. Sometimes it sounds nice but I know I will never be that type of person. It’s nice to have it as an escape for a week here or there but all the time? I don’t think I’d appreciate it as much.

Now, tell me what you did with your Fourth of July weekend!

Today I am participating in Where in the World Wednesdays, Classy in Philadelphia’s awesome weekly series. This week, I’m still stateside, in the beautiful summer escape that is Montauk, NY!

The idea of WITWW is to post a picture of you in someplace in the world…it doesn’t have to be somewhere foreign or tropical. Just a picture of you somewhere that you consider traveling.

When summer rolled into Boulder, the nostalgic side of me started longing for the smell of salt and sea, the sand between my toes and immediately I was transported back into the depths of my memory to my summer spent in Montauk, New York three years ago.

It started off as a job designing and installing a hotel. My best friend Lauren and I arrived in late May to the empty, historic hotel located in the sleepy seaside town of Montauk, on the eastern most tip of Long Island. I had no idea what to expect but loved the accommodations–one of the high-end suites that had already been made up for a photo shoot–and loved the beach. The days were spent either getting work done in the hotel or exploring the area.

Shortly before the hotel opened, when TVs had been mounted to walls, beds assembled and made, pillows distributed and artwork for the doors painted and hung, we were offered jobs as front desk receptionists. Seeing that neither one of us had anything lined up back in NYC, we both decided to stay the summer.

It was the job from hell; I was on call 24/7 and we had ghosts who pulled fire alarms and set off every iHome dock’s alarm at 3am (or at least that’s what we were convinced of, not being able to figure out why everything electronic would freak out on a weekly, sometimes nightly basis), the plumbing would stop working, we’d lose hot water, we’d lose cold water, the guests would wanted us to redesign their rooms…it was an endless charade of catastrophes and needed far more than just three people to run the front office.

On the other hand, it was the best job I’ve ever had. Adjacent to the hotel was a restaurant and I quickly became good friends with most of the staff. I would find myself there every day; if I was bored I would wander in and say hello to whoever was working, I got to taste test items the chef was trying out for the menu (saffron shrimp is AMAZING.) and every night I would park myself at the end of the bar and chat up the bartender or whomever happened to be sitting next to me.

It was good to be me that summer. The owners gave us special privileges, allowing us to drink and eat at the bar whenever we pleased, including in the presence of guests. There were several occasions where I drank a bottle of wine and the next morning, sitting at the front desk secretly dying from the worst hangovers ever and get a high five from someone who apparently met me the night before and thought I was a riot. I played musical owners on the nights when all five were on site. I’d flit from one owner to the next, each with their own assortment of alcohol, their own dishes of food to try and each group would try to get me as drunk as they possibly could.

Case in point…I have no idea what’s going on in this picture.

There were midnight surfing trips that involved us just sitting around a bonfire on the beach, listening to the waves pound the shore and try to spot a few of our surfer friends in the dark water. There were trips into the Hamptons and a spontaneous trip out to shelter island with a gay hair stylist named Bubbles and his friend just so we could see the sunset. I was introduced to sushi here and learned how to use chopsticks. I had a summer fling with a guy five years younger than me, who also was the head housekeeper’s son. I got so drunk I puked all over Room 128 (known as the exorcism of Room 128). I was given Xanax by a guy whose girlfriend had been a bitch to me at the front desk, I lay with a guy in a hammock drinking pina colada martinis, on one of my last nights there I had sex in one of those same hammocks.

There are so many fantastic memories from this summer–as well as some unpleasant, like the time I got in a fight with the guy I was seeing and we were hissing at each other over guests heads–it’s hard to pick just one or ten to showcase.  Every memory though was in that restaurant, at that bar. The GM of the restaurant was an entertaining, crazy guy and everytime Bob Dylan’s The Hurricane came on the iPod, would sing and do a dance routine. (Sadly the video I have for that is sideways and I’m not sure how to flip it!) His best friend happened to be a singer and would often play at our restaurant. I remember the first time he played the song featured below in the video, Lionel Ritchie’s All Night Long. It had everyone in the restaurant, including the chef, singing along.

This video was taken the last week at the hotel. Some notes on the video: The GM is on the ice bucket, I love my friend Lauren’s drunk laugh, and I apologize for turning the camera sideways. After a couple glasses of wine I forget that you can’t do that.

I have a list of things I want to buy as soon as I have money and it gets longer every day. Things I remember I want for my apartment, the dream book I want to create for my next big adventure (Australia, New Zealand and Fiji, in case you didn’t know!), new clothes, paint for the walls, canvases for artwork I want to create, a new pair of shoes, new lingerie, new workout clothes, a large piece of artwork depicting the world, a handful of CDs and maybe a DVD or two. It’s months and months of stuff that has built up in my mind of things I want, links to Etsy sites and wish lists on Amazon.

I’m a materialistic person. I cannot help that fact since I was born to a mother who loves to shop and bargain shop at that. I grew up in Marshalls and TJ Maxx, Macy’s and Sears, malls of all sizes. I stopped shopping August 17th, 2009 when I left for Europe for what I usually shopped for, like clothing and shoes, instead trading my money for things like bus fares, hostel bookings and baguettes.

When I usually shop, I like to take my time. I’m a horrible decision maker so I will often ponder over an item for ten minutes, walking around the store with it and looking at my other options. Sometimes I end up with ten things in my hand, narrowing things down as I go along (or sometimes buying everything). When I was in Morocco I had a hard time with this. It was the one country I could actually afford to purchase things because you could barter and the exchange rate was much better there than it was in Europe. It also happened to be near the end of my trip so I could carry things around with me easier, knowing I’d be going home soon. But it was the one country where window shopping doesn’t exist. There’s no such thing as “Just Browsing.”

I remember first arriving in Fes and wandering the old medina, it’s narrow streets lined with merchants. I wanted to stop and look at teapots, or some brightly colored textiles and quickly learned I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t linger at any store and look at items. I had to be positive on what exactly I wanted and exactly how much I was willing to spend on it before I even entered the little shop because the store keeper was on me from the time I entered his sight. A particularly bad incident I had involved a blanket. I had stopped to look at one as we wandered the confusing streets, being lead by someone our friend had left in charge of us but unfortunately that “friend” failed to tell us that he had given us a tour guide, one we did not want. The shopkeeper started in on trying to sell me it, opening it up and we all had to agree: it was gorgeous. I offered 250 durham for it but he wouldn’t accept. According to my friend Richard, if a tour guide was with us, they would charge a commission to that store so the shopkeeper automatically would attempt to sell it for more. So I walked away. The shopkeeper followed me, grabbing my arm and pleading with me to buy this blanket for a good twenty minutes. He followed us OUT OF THE MEDINA, offering it for as low at 150 durham, approximately 14 USD (this was after our guide had disappeared) but I was so rattled, so stressed and so upset (combined with our “guide” asking us for money which had us a little riled) that I wanted nothing to do with it. He finally left us alone when we climbed into a taxi. I felt bad, his family probably needed that sale but my nerves were so frayed at the end of that day that I just couldn’t be asked to spend money on something that I’d have such a bad memory of getting.

After a few days, I started learning new techniques for shopping. When my friends were in shops looking at something I would discreetly look across the pathway at another shop, scoping out their merchandise. It worked pretty well, sometimes I was able to tell if there was anything worth having a conversation with the shopkeeper over or whether I should just keep going. Most of the time I just kept going. I never looked directly at a shop, I never made eye contact with the shop keeper and I kept moving pretty fast as I walked down the aisles.  Another thing I learned, in an ever elusive search for a blanket that Anneke and I found ourselves on, was that I was a HORRIBLE barter-er.

Like ridiculously awful. I would feel horrible when I would give them my price, knowing it was low, knowing it was lower than my maximum, hoping that after a few rounds we would settle somewhere closer to what I was willing to spend. And the shopkeepers could instinctively catch on to this and so would hard ball me even further. Anneke ended up having to do most of the bartering for me, her game face much better than mine.

It was hard shopping this way. I couldn’t just take my time anymore, I had to be quick and decisive and I had to work for the price I wanted, things I am not very skilled at. Morocco was amazing, beautiful, a sensory overload; it was stressful and the hardest part of my trip but you can’t say I didn’t learn a lot from those eleven days, even with shopping–a pastime I’m very well trained at!

Is there a method to your shopping?

If you can believe it, I just passed my four month mark on Saturday of living in Boulder. Hard to believe I’ve been here four months already. For those of you who don’t know, or didn’t realize, I had never been to Boulder, or even to Colorado, before I moved here. I had absolutely no idea what to expect when I crossed that state border, when the mountains first began coming into view rising above the flat Eastern plains of the state. It has been a whirlwind of a four months and with June just one day away, it’s for sure going to only get more tornado like. (Speaking of, have you ever experienced wind coming from every single direction at the same time? VERY strange sensation! We had a downburst the other day while walking which created a mini dirt tornado, which then went on to run straight into me. Mmmm…dirt.)

It’s definitely been a learning experience being here in Boulder. I came from New York City, the land of high heels, cocktail dresses, martinis, suits and everyone in a hurry. Boulder is laid back, they wear things like crocs and their workout gear grocery shopping, they are outside ALL THE TIME , and they drive Subarus and Toyota Rav-4s. (Ironically, I own a Toyota Rav-4. I’m a Bouderite and I didn’t even know it!) In honor of my four month anniversary, I am now going to share with you what I’ve learned and how I’m becoming a Boulderite without barely acknowledging that I am.

• In NYC I had to deal with humidity and if it were above 80 degrees out, I could barely handle being outside. I’d be DRIPPING and disgusting within seconds. In Boulder, 95 degree heat is NOTHING, I can walk 7 miles and be perfectly happy. I am in love with dry heat and want to open mouth kiss it. For reals.
• In NYC I could spend hours and hours in Central Park and never get any sort of tan. In Boulder, I go outside for five minutes and I’ve got a nice tan going on.
• In NYC I didn’t have to lotion up that much. In Boulder, I have to apply every five minutes because OMG THE DRY.
• In NYC when I broke up with someone, I turned to chocolate, wine and sappy movies. In Boulder, I take 10 mile power walks into canyons. Healthy ways to process things? WHO KNEW.
• In NYC I had to fight my way through tourists everywhere, had to deal with crowds at every corner and a trip to Central Park always meant way too many people to properly enjoy “nature.” In Boulder I can avoid crowds by just not going to the Farmers Market on the weekends (or things like the Boulder Creek Fest). I can go for hikes and not see anyone, I can take walks and only pass a handful of people. I can be completely immersed in nature and not see a single skyscraper. Can’t hear a single car horn. It’s heaven. I still hate crowds though. I will turn New Yorker in .5 seconds if met with a crowded situation.
• In NYC I was terrified of going for a bike ride because that meant you had to ride in the street with the crazies and I didn’t really feel like dying. In Boulder everyone owns a bike and everywhere is super bike friendly. As soon as I get a job and set enough money aside, I definitely will be buying my first bike!!
• In NYC I had Trader Joes. In Boulder we do not. SADFACE.
• In NYC I ate out a ton. In Boulder I still eat out a ton. I love the foodie atmosphere here!
• In NYC I ate whatever I could make easily, and ate a lot of meat. I ate sushi at least once a week from the gourmet grocery store next to my apartment. In Boulder I still eat whatevers easiest but I do not eat meat much anymore. In fact, the only meat I eat is fish, even if it’s cooked. I never ate cooked fish before this year, so it’s a big step for me. (Don’t worry, I still adore sushi!) With the exception of the incident with the whole, raw chicken, I haven’t cooked with much meat since being here.
• In NYC I could not escape the city without taking a plane somewhere. I was chained to that island since I did not have a car or someone to pick me up from any train stations outside of the city. In Boulder I can jump in my car and drive up into the mountains if I ever want to. I’m never trapped here. I never feel trapped here.
• In NYC I lived in a tiny shoebox that cost me 1000 a month for my room. In Boulder I live in a two floor, two bedroom, one and a half bath with a PORCH, the entire thing less than my half of rent for my last apartment.
• In NYC I lived on the only hill in Manhattan and I thought it was bad. In Boulder, yeah there are no hills. THERE ARE MOUNTAINS. And they’re kind of scary to drive up. I’ve gotten a lot better at handling the switchbacks though. The first time Doni and I drove up Flagstaff, there was definitely shrieking coming from both of us.
• In NYC I just had my iPod to listen to my music. In Boulder I now need to make CDs on top of my playlists, so that when I go for a drive I have something to listen to. I kind of like that.
• In NYC, when I’d go out, I would get all dressed up in a cocktail dress with three inch heels. If I were going on a job interview, I’d put on suit pants and a nice top and blazer. In Boulder they will look at me funny if I showed up anywhere in ANY of those. Sure, Boulder isn’t as granola-y as I was expecting but they don’t wear suits to work. They don’t get all dolled up to go out at night. Sure they dress nice, but it’s not exactly the same. I miss my dresses sometimes.
• In NYC I would always make sure to get fully dressed with makeup and my hair done just right just to go to the grocery store. In Boulder I go on a ten mile walk and go grocery shopping in my workout clothes, still all sweaty and gross. I will always run into at least five people who also look exactly the same as me, and five that look worse!

New York City will always be near and dear to my heart. It is the one place I’ve lived the longest, it’s where I got my first “real” job, it’s the place where some of my best friends live thus where some of my best memories lie. I will always love that city and I cannot wait to get back for a visit, but I’m finding the Boulder way of life a hell of a lot nicer and I absolutely love it here. It’s taking some getting used to and there have been the usual growing pains that comes along with any move, but every time I see the sunset over the Rockies, every time I’m alone in the middle of the woods and looking at all this natural gorgeousness, I cannot help but fall in love just a little bit more with my new home.

I still get the urge to grab people and shake them, shouting I CAN’T BELIEVE I LIVE HERE! I wonder when that will grow old. Hopefully never!

Today I am participating in Where in the World Wednesdays, Classy in Philadelphia’s awesome weekly series. This week, I’m in Vegas!

The idea of WITWW is to post a picture of you in someplace in the world…it doesn’t have to be somewhere foreign or tropical. Just a picture of you somewhere that you consider traveling.

Since so many of you bloggers out there went to Vegas last weekend for BiSC, I decided to share with you my trip that I took last year for my birthday.

Last year, Vegas was necessary for my health. It was around March that my job went from awful to hell-tastic and I had an epic freakout because I was going to not only Vegas in May, but Wyoming as well. Tickets had already been purchased, hotel rooms already booked and all of this? Was going to be funded on a 20% less paycheck. I decided to go and have a good time though, and not worry about money. It was a good thing I didn’t worry about money because I spent a whopping $1,000 in one weekend.

Equipped with sun screen, sun dresses, flip flops, the need to relax and a list of casinos I needed to check out for work but never did, I arrived in Vegas just a couple days after my 27th birthday. I went with my best friend Steph, her husband Joe and their friend John, whom I had met at their wedding the summer before. I had never been to Vegas before; I was not really sure what to expect from this weekend but I knew that crazy shit happened there. We stayed at the MGM Grand, which was awesome. Now, I don’t care for casinos. Actually, if I never have to see another one again? I’d be pretty effing happy. But that may be for different reasons, not just because I hate recycled cigarette smoke air and gambling.

We ate at really awesome restaurants (Oh, hi, Emeril. I’m still dreaming of your pork chops a year later.), we went to a couple bars, we double fisted drinks before two Dave Matthews Band shows, saw Jason Mraz at the pool and ran the length of the pool to follow him, had pina coladas at 10am, and danced in the hallways.

It is safe to say that I stayed at the pool the ENTIRE time. I only hit the strip a couple times. The first night we went to New York, New York and wandered through the large casino, the boys stopping to play a couple games while we took in the sights. A couple days later Steph and I wandered down the strip a ways but didn’t even make it to see the Bellagio. The only other casino we saw was Pallazzo and that was because Steph’s brother worked there. So when I say we stayed at the pool? WE STAYED AT THE POOL.

And that is exactly what I needed. I rarely take vacations where I just sit by a pool, or on a beach. But sometimes it’s necessary when life gets so stressful you just need a TIME OUT. Vegas was exactly that–my time out.

Did I like Vegas? While it was fun and I had a great time with my friends, I did not like Vegas as a city. It was dirty, it was ridiculously hot (although I was enjoying the dry heat immensely), and it was crowded with tourists. Yes, I know I was a tourist too.

I did love being able to walk around with my alcohol outside, I loved seeing some of the odd buildings and to lie in the sun getting brown all day. I loved dressing up at night. I also loved the two DMB concerts we saw. They were some of the most fun I’ve had at a concert (considering I was drunk, and the second night also high) and I had completely lost my voice by the time the weekend was over. It was also at these concerts that I discovered my love for Jason Mraz. It was the first time any of us had rushed to a concert to make sure we saw the opening act.

Vegas was quite the trip and at the time, it was exactly what I needed. I still want to be able to attend BiSC some day but unfortunately neither of these two trips have been good timing for me. Hopefully next year I will be employed and not have gone to Vegas only the month before!

I’ll leave you with a few more pictures…

Steph and I at the DMB concert. Look how tan I was. And how high…

Fist bumping before the concert.

Today I am participating in Where in the World Wednesdays, Classy in Philadelphia’s awesome weekly series. This week, we’re in Paris, France! (Ironically, I also have updated my header to a more travel themed one. See above!)

The idea of WITWW is to post a picture of you in someplace in the world…it doesn’t have to be somewhere foreign or tropical. Just a picture of you somewhere that you consider traveling.

My last week in Europe was spent in Paris and I could not have chosen a better place. I absolutely fell in love with this city, with it’s energy, it’s people and it’s beautiful architecture. Not to mention the language which is oh so sexy.

I arrived in Paris after spending the night on an overnight bus from Barcelona that made a border check around 2 in the morning. We had to take all our bags off the bus and it was exhausting. Not to mention I was on edge the entire night, having almost had my DSLR stolen at the bus stop and being harrassed by a few different guys on the bus. It was a long night.

When we arrived in Paris, I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know the metro, I didn’t even know what hostel I was staying at, not having booked anything the day before. Luckily I had struck up conversation with a French woman on the bus and she took it upon her generous self to help me get to where I needed to go. We chatted quite a bit, which was a little difficult considering she spoke no English and I knew only a handful of French words. It was a lot of sign language and using my ability to understand bits and pieces of French that we managed to converse. When I got out of the metro I made the mistake of miscalculating how far it was to my hostel so I ended up grabbing a taxi. A very fancy taxi. I rolled up to my hostel in style, with the taxi driver helping me out of the car and bringing my bags inside for me.

The best part about Paris was that I had a bunch of friends, both from traveling and from home, there at the same time. It was the perfect way to end my trip. I met Russell, the guy who played the nasty prank on me in Scotland and whom I traveled with through several different countries, at the Eiffel Tower on the first day. I remember coming up off of the Metro, looking around and not being able to see the Tower. I was confused, since I was pretty damn sure it was tall and that I should be able to see it. I called him on my little European cell phone and he said to walk towards the horse.

I rounded the corner, took one look left and got so incredibly giddy, I almost CRIED. Holy shit, I WAS IN PARIS.

The first couple days were a little cold and a bit rainy, but that didn’t stop me from going out wandering the magical streets. I saw the Eiffel Tower, a particular obsession of mine, at least once a day. I would wander by the Seine in the evening, looking at the tower glowing yellow, sometimes sparkling on the hour and be filled with this wonder. With this amazement. I was in Paris!! I had dreamed of this city since I was young.

I ate dinners and had crepes with my friend Chandani who I knew through my best friend in New York, who was studying there. It was awesome to see people from home there, especially since I had been away three months. I spent afternoons wandering around town with Russell, checking our email at the Mac store and sitting in those massage chairs in random shopping malls. I was continuing my poor man’s diet of baguettes and crepes with nutella et banane but that would change as soon as my friend Steph arrived in town.

At the second hostel I stayed at, which was much closer and within walking distance of the tower, I met a few new friends. On the morning my friend Stephanie was due to arrive from New York, my new friend Kate and I made an early morning dash to the Louvre to catch a glimpse of the Mona Lisa. We sprinted through the large corridors and galleries so that we could see the painting without mass crowds. We walked in the room and my first reaction was, “That’s it? She’s so…small.”

Luckily, we beat the crowds. Unluckily, that was the afternoon that I tried my first Royale with Cheese. It was just as bad as everything else McDonalds and I regretted it for hours afterwards. Maybe even days.

At least I ate it with a pretty view…

Steph arrived that afternoon and after picking her up from the Metro and stashing her stuff at the hostel, we set out on our whirlwind weekend adventure. We had escargo at a little hole in the wall restaurant near the hostel, drank wine in the gardens of Versailles, tried on goofy hats from Bon Champs and drank champagne and ate delicious creme brulee overlooking the tower. We had crepes at the Sacre Couer and bought artwork in Montematre. We ate fancy chocolate and shopped along the Champs Elysees. We walked along the Seine and ate at fancy restaurants. Lucky enough for us, the Christmas markets opened the last weekend I was there and I tried delicious hot wine, scoped out chocolate bananas and felt the Christmas spirit all around.

Paris was incredible. On the second to last night there, I headed up to the top of the Tower after meeting up with Russell to have cotton candy (pictured above, larger than my head). It was something I could not miss. I was a little sad that I was the only single person there, that everyone was coupled off and making out all over the Tower, but it was so magical looking out over the city sparkling in the cold air. I did not want to leave.

Russell met us on our last afternoon there, before I had to leave for the bus station to catch my last overnight bus to London. It was a sad moment, the realization that my trip to Europe was over. That my last night in Europe was going to be spent crossing the English Channel confined in a bus. That I was leaving on a morning flight out of Heathrow to JFK.

As the bus pulled away from the station and Paris faded off into the blackness, I believe a lone tear fell from my cheek. I was so happy to have experienced all that I did in those three months but reality was waiting for me and I did not want to return.

I loved Paris. Every single thing about it. I cannot wait to go back!

Steph and I outside Sacre Couer

Le Tour d’Eiffel. In the Fall. <3

One thing I was not prepared for when I arrived down in New Orleans was the food. I had heard about the crawfish and the alligator but I figured that my eating habits wouldn’t change that drastically while down there. Boy, was I wrong.

About a few days into the trip Heather and I started referring to our stomachs as “The Situation.” The Situation was that they were a little…larger. Full of fried shrimp, oysters, crawfish po’boys, alligator and bread pudding. A whole assortment of foods that my stomach and I were not used to, yet loved. Could not get enough of.

The love affair with Cajun food began the first night. Andy was pulling out the big guns and making us Chicken and Andouille Sausage Gumbo and teaching me how to make it at the same time. I learned about why his right arm is stronger than his left (sure it’s from stirring the roux….suuuuuure) and I chopped an entire red onion without crying (which is a huge feat in and of itself–I ALWAYS cry with red onions for some reason). I watched the roux change colors and watched it stew. The finished product the next day was SO good and I was glad I had two bowls when, after getting drunk, we forgot to put the Gumbo away in the fridge and it turned moldy overnight. (A crime!)

The gumbo was the only homemade dish we had, the rest of the days and nights filled with one restaurant stop after another. I breakfasted at Surrey’s on Magazine in the Garden District with Chris and Ana and had the most amazing Crabmeat Omelette, while Ana had a fantastic Crawfish Omelette, Chris the Migra with Chorizo. Yes, we all swapped plates at one point so we could enjoy everything on the table. We joked about licking our plates clean (especially Ana’s because her’s was just SO good that we all would fight over the excess on the plate, if it had come down to that) but our waitress, clearly catching wind of our plan, intercepted our plates before they could reach our tongues.

Thursday night we went out for dinner at this out of the way local joint off of Canal street which I forget the name of. Madina’s or something of the sort. This was the night of epic drinking but it started with turtle soup, which I was unsure how I felt about eating since I had a pet turtle when I was little called Bubbles. But I had to try it. When they served us though, they told us it was fake turtle, actually veal, and I was disappointed. This was information they could have, I don’t know, shared with us BEFORE we ordered it?I only ordered it because of how strange it was! I’ve had veal before. Apparently turtle meat skyrocketed after Katrina and the only places that sell them did not include this restaurant. Nevertheless it was delicious. The second course was a whole lot of…fried. Fried oysters and fried shrimp. I could barely get through half of them without feeling like I was about to blow up. So good, but wow.

Somehow I drank enough to make me forget just how much fried crap I’d ingested and had some greasy disgusting pizza on Bourbon Street in my drunken haze later that night. Maybe all this grease helped me not be hung over the next morning? Maybe.

The food at Jazz fest was unexpected. I was not prepared for the amazingness that was crawfish bread, a cheesy concoction stuffed inside bread with these little crawfish which were quickly becoming my favorite item to eat. It was SO good. Between acts I picked up a crawfish po’boy for my dinner and immediately regretted that decision. While amazingly delicious (and oh, it was), it did not sit well with my stomach and I ended up in pain for some of the night until Andy pumped me full of pepto. I did bear through the pain though and ended up standing in line at Acme’s to try their oysters. People had been mentioning these char-grilled oysters that have parmesan cheese and herbs on top of them and I had to try them. YUM. So amazing. I was on the fence about oysters until this trip. I ate so many, I am now a huge fan!

Saturday morning we headed to Slim Goodies for breakfast, Andy’s supposed favorite breakfast joint. He recommended the Tex Mex plate, which included eggs, avocados, beans, cheese, salsa and other stuff. I was sold at the avacados! So naturally all four of us at our table got that option and we all devoured it. So yum. Somehow, I still had room for food–or at least biegnets from Cafe du Monde. Oh holy powdered sugar. SO GOOD.

And yet, I still had room in The Situation. That afternoon, the second day of Jazz Fest, I continued eating. I tried Crawfish Monica, a pasta dish with some kind of red cream sauce with crawfish. Again, amazing. What is with this town and it’s fantastic dishes?! Everything I tried was worthy of the fake reactions you get out of the Food Network stars (what? There is no way those reactions are real), only these reactions coming from me were 100% REAL. I had a bite of meat pie that was great and got a bowl of white chocolate bread pudding, quite possibly my favorite dessert that warranted two trips to that stand over two days.

Saturday night we all were pretty tired but a few of us ended up at Mona’s for some Turkish food, a small break from the fried shellfish–but still greasy. It was good but certainly not really worthy of too big a mention in the grand scheme of New Orleans foodgasms.

Sunday morning before heading to Jazzfest Andy, Margaret, Mollie, her brother John and I headed to our reservation at The Court of Two Sisters down in the quarter. It was a beautiful old restaurant with an outdoor garden seating area with a live jazz band. It was a buffet and while it wasn’t the BEST food, it was still good. I had three plates of food–one was fruit, the other eggs benedict with an assortment of carbs, and the third was a plate full of dessert. Clearly couldn’t go without that! To top it all off I had a delicious Bloody Mary, a drink I had been craving since Friday when Heather mentioned that she had just had one before coming into the festival.

Since sunday was my last day at Jazz fest and I was determined to eat as much as possible. I mean, these food stands were not going to follow me to Boulder (and boy, I was glad for that!) so I had to make good use of them. I had some catfish dish that was really good, grabbed more crawfish bread, some crawfish pie and yet another white chocolate bread pudding. I also tried a bit of some oyster bread thing and some banana bread pudding–both were very good. I was so full from that by the time the Allman Brothers ended and we headed back to Andy’s, I couldn’t even think about eating anything more.

Monday, my last day in New Orleans, was epic and not just for the music. It started with Heather and Jake at Mother’s on Poydras where we ordered the soft shell crab po’boy (shown above) and the crawfish etouffee omelette with a side of debris and biscuits to share. FOODGASM. The po’boy was amazing, the omelette to die for. Debris is the parts of roast beef that have fallen off into the gravy and was pretty damn tasty. We piled that on top of the biscuit and devoured everything on our plates.

The Situation was clearly growing larger, for both of us.

For dinner that evening we decided Felix’s for oysters was a must. Andy, Heather, Jake and I managed to put away four dozen oysters (our reasoning? The oil spill, extremely tragic and heartbreaking, was going to kill all those poor oysters and we had to eat as many as we possibly could). FOUR DOZEN. Three dozen of those were raw, one dozen was char-grilled. We had to mix things up a bit though and we got fried pickles, sweet potato fries and blackened alligator, which was SO good. That was the one thing I was determined to eat while in NOLA and it was looking like it wouldn’t happen but when we saw it on the menu we had to order it. I was impressed! It was chewy but really tasty!

And that my friends, was my trip to New Orleans. It was an epic trip full of amazing music, amazing food and some excellent company. I am still completely in love with it and really looking forward to Doni and I’s dinner party on Sunday where we’re making shrimp etouffee and I’m going to try to make a Tres Leches cake, my very first attempt. My confidence in this cake has been boosted by the fact that Andy swears it’s super easy to make, since he makes it all the time.

If I fail at this, I’m blaming him.

Standing on your feet all day really can wear you out, especially when one foot is swollen, itchy and in pain. Not only from the fire ant bites I had gotten on the first two days, but from flip flop injuries–the worst of which was between the first two toes on the same foot as the bites. Apparently my feet do not believe in equal opportunity for pain. LET’S JUST GIVE IT ALL TO THE RIGHT FOOT.

I was in such pain that I decided that evening I could not handle wearing my flip flops for a second more and put on my three inch pointy toed heels when we headed out for the evening. We were all tired but Andy and I had been spending too much time together and while all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and sleep, I decided to give Andy some alone time and went to meet Heather and Jake after dinner at the Hermes bar where the Treme Brass Band was playing. Little did I know was that the bass drummer was a LEGEND and on the poster for Jazz Fest! We had a great time listening to them and even got some pictures with Lionel Batiste, that bass drummer. He was an interesting character, that’s for sure.

Here is my friend Heather with Lionel:

The band took a break and we decided to move on the Frenchman Street where we had heard some big names were playing in a few bars there. What amazed me was that these jazz musicians–these LEGENDS–were just hanging out on the streets of New Orleans. Playing to the masses as if it were nothing. These bands were coming in the front door like everyone else, no VIP treatment even though they deserved it. Discovering that the cover charge was a little steep, we decided to just wander around, there being so much live music happening anyway.

One one street corner we found a large crowd gathered around two marching bands, perched on opposite sides of the street, battling. It was AWESOME. We let ourselves get swept up in the crowd and danced along as they played various songs, including Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance. I don’t know how long we were watching them but it was definitely a highlight of my trip. I was loving the energy this city was giving off, loving all the music and loving the people.

By Day Three of Jazz Fest, Sunday, we were exhausted but still intent on having a great time. Heather had this app on her iPhone that allowed her to schedule not only her music, but her food. The night before we had scheduled in some alligator pie, crawfish monica (so good!) and other such deliciousness. Of course nothing goes as planned and we didn’t meet up until later on at the Allman Brothers. Being it was our last day (or at least MY last day) we hit up the food stands like we would never eat again, stacking up on crawfish bread, crawfish pie and more white chocolate pudding before heading into the crowds of people gathered at the Acura stage to see the Allman Brothers and to meet back up with Heather.

Now the only Allman Brothers song I know is Ramblin’ Man, pretty much my own personal anthem. And a couple others I don’t know the names of. I was only planning on going to two days of Jazz Fest but once in New Orleans, I decided that I might as well go to all three days, I would kick myself if I didn’t. As was the theme of most of the weekend, I kept having to tell myself that it was just money and I can make more of it. But who knows when I’ll be in New Orleans again! Anyway, I didn’t know what to expect with the Allman Brothers but I certainly enjoyed it. It was one giant jamfest and they could jam. They were incredibly talented and while I didn’t know the songs they were playing, I appreciated and loved the music they were making.

Unfortunately they did not play Ramblin’ Man but it was a great end to three days of intense music. It also happened to be gorgeously sunny that last day, without a cloud in the sky.

That wasn’t the end of the music though. Monday night, my last night in NOLA, Heather, Jake and I headed to Tipitina’s to see a bunch of jazz musicians take the stage. Despite having my boobs proposed marriage to, it was the best way to end my trip there; I danced my face off, loved every band that took the stage and just had a blast. Soul Rebels were really fun and interactive, getting everyone in the bar down on the ground at one point. The lead singer from Cowboy Mouth was there again and I fell in love with the music of Trombone Shorty, even though I was dead at that point and very ready to go home and sleep.

Now, you might have heard about something called Boobquake. I had heard about it earlier in the morning, about how some guy from Iran said something about how loose women who dress improperly cause earthquakes and how in response, people were showing some skin to see if that was scientifically true. That night I happened to be wearing a rather revealing dress (hence the guy wanting to marry me–or my boobs) and discussed this with my friend Heather. The two of us alone should have been causing massive earthquakes all over the world but alas, I don’t believe any happened.

It was an amazing weekend for music. I love music, especially live, and this town has done it right.

I have at least one more post coming about all the amazing FOODGASMS I was having while down there. Yes, N’awlins’ food deserves it’s own post. I have never been to a city in the US where I did not have one single “American” dish the entire week I was there.

Now I will leave you with some more photos from this week:

The rain on the first day, at the Gentilly Stage.

The muddy lake I had to wash the fire ants off my feet in

Heather and I and her lanyard koozie at Simon and Garfunkel, Day 2, after the sun had come out!

Muddy feet! Ewwww…

Guy playing the guitar and harmonica on Frenchman Street

This is what I picture when I think of New Orleans: feathers and umbrella parades!

Band playing on Royal Street