beautiful british columbia

I'd heard Vancouver is beautiful. I was also told it's expensive, with one of the best qualities of living; that many of its residents are active; that it's home to an outstanding number of cultures, ethnicities, and languages, as well as a visible socioeconomic divide. But, having only ever been to Montreal and Toronto, I still wasn't quite sure what to expect from Canada's westernmost seaport city.

So let me tell you, it is beautiful—and not just because the clouds hang artfully across the not-so-distant mountains and the air is deliciously fresh and the trees are just beginning to change and the water shines clear and bright in the sun; though I did get exceptionally lucky with the weather. My personal experience in Vancouver was made beautiful by the warmth and generosity of the community I'd flown there to work with; a religious organization that raised ~250k to provide care and opportunity for thousands of people they'll likely never meet who've been placed under inconceivable circumstances. A definitive hell yes for humanity.

And if the festival weren't awe-inspiring enough, I also received a great deal of kindness; like the woman who treated me to gelato after she overheard the cashier apologizing that they didn't accept US debit; or the elderly couple with whom I exchanged stories, who remarked at my "beautiful Spanish last name"; or the bartender who made me feel at ease in her Saturday local bar scene; or the airbnb host who gave me ferry tickets to explore the city by waterway; or the places and friends the darling Gillian directed me to.

I enjoyed my time in Vancouver immensely. There's an incomparable sincerity and calmness to the beauty I came to know there; one that isn't acknowledged enough in the daily grind of our stresses and responsibilities. It feels silly—naive even—to say that I crave this kind of evidence, proof that there's goodness in people and strength in our connection to one another and considerable potential in the impact we can have on the world; and yet, to be perfectly honest, I still do. Forever grateful for this past weekend.

je t'embrasse

It's been three years since I lived in New York, four months since I was last in Paris, and I've attempted to write this post far too many times in the past two weeks. However cliché, distance does makes the heart grow fonder. But my longing as of late is much more than that, amplified by the realization that support and strength is oftentimes most felt through the physically "being there".

Lunch with Lauren, coffee with an old professor (x two), drinks with Rithy, dinner with ma famille, breakfast with Lou–check.

I spent our last hour in Paris lying in bed with a migraine, dozing off between the soft murmurs of sparrows in the courtyard. Though unwell, I was secure, calm. And then I almost made me and Rachael miss our train back to London because I needed more photos and a pain aux raisins for the following morning. The truth is, I hadn't wanted to leave; not when (where) everything made sense again.

west end lite

According to visitlondon.com, West End has a fantastic range of theatres, tourist attractions, hotels, shopping, and iconic streets. I had little desire to spend any time there (as I insist on not being a "tourist"), but! catching up with the lovely Daisy de Plume was a must.

After that full day in East London, I nearly slept in until our lunch date at Bea's of Bloomsbury. What a treat--both sleeping in and lunching with her. And though I may have stumbled through a bis exchange (gosh darn reassimilated American!), Daisy, the kind soul and adorable pregnant momma that she is, didn't seem to mind.

Following our date, I ventured over to the nearby Charles Dickens Museum to spend my time wisely while waiting for Rachael.

Yes, I'm aware this move made me a tourist. So be it! It was raining again and I'm quite the fan of Oliver Twist.

To continue with the touristing, Rachael and I went on to have cream tea at Soho's Secret Tea Room. And as we finished up our last bites of scone with raspberry preserves and clotted cream, we looked into theaters and well-reviewed plays nearby.

Then we ran over to purchase last-minute tickets to The Play That Goes Wrong. We got lucky with great seats at a very discounted price. To celebrate, Rachael and I clinked glasses of champagne before going in to laugh our asses off at the Dutchess Theatre.

And laugh our asses off we did. My empty stomach was sore by the play's end! To remedy the situation, and cap off a spontaneously hysterical evening, Rachael and I made yet another fabulous decision to late night-dine on fancy fish and chips at The Ivy.

It was the most perfect British send-off. The next morning I boarded a train to Amsterdam to visit my brother and Lorelei...

an ode to mon quartier

The first time I crossed neighborhood lines into the Batignolles, I was meeting a classmate for brunch. And though the meal itself was disappointing (the food, not the company), the quartier got under my skin. There were boutiques like Superflu, blou, and EnApARThé--places that seemed cool and inviting without even trying. There were hipsters and elderly couples and young families. It was a quieter Paris; "authentic", without the tourists. I wanted to live there. As luck would have it, as of last year's July, I did.

To some, living 20-30 minutes from most Parisian attractions would be a deal breaker. But I appreciated the distance and the refuge. It meant my favorite farmers market was right around the corner, as was even better good pizza. My preferred café to caffeinate, read, and write was a brisk 10-minute stroll; a block closer than the beloved Artisan. There was even a great Portuguese bakery, handmade jewelry shop, and happy hour spot. It didn't take long for me to find a good brunch resto (with live Sunday night jazz).

There were other highlights, too, such as my Mary Poppins-esque landlady, neighborhood blend (who happened to live above the best wine bar), and the boulanger and caviste who always remembered my face. I felt at home, and I loved it; the Square especially. Amy and I commemorated my last night as a resident with dinner at this favorite resto and a walk through Martin Luther King Park. I can hardly believe it's been two weeks since. New York has been awfully kind to me again, but how I miss this Paris so.

This post was inspired by Relay Rides, a peer-to-peer sharing, car rental service, and their Hometown Hidden Gems campaign.