what it adds up to

At 27, I've been to twenty-seven countries, though I'd never say so out loud. Such statements are silly. Because, here's the thing: the world is most definitely not my oyster—and neither my experiences nor anyone else's can be quantified. What matters in travel, I think, is that one is curious and daring and open enough to explore the world in the first place. Forget the checklist. In my case, doing so has granted me the privilege to know the warmth and generosity of an Ecuadorian, a Chilean, and multiple French families; to be humbled by the beauty of the Amazon, Stroker geyser, Atacama Desert, as well as the genius of Roman, Mayan, and Moorish architecture; and, perhaps most importantly, to fully appreciate how few "right" ways there are to live and love, to satiate and enjoy...

danielle abroad has spoken ;)

I'm blogging from Los Angeles (home), after spending the past two weeks in New York. I worked from our offices in Williamsburg, at the Piers, an Upper East Side private school, a museum downtown. It felt surprisingly normal, almost as if I were living in the city again. And yet, that time in my life feels so far away. I think that's why I'm feeling especially reflective and grateful. I remember so much from that period (when almost everything familiar was stifling) and so much has taken place since, mostly elsewhere.

Time and time again, I've heard women praise their 30s. That magical combination of becoming financially stable and satisfied with careers, relationships, et cetera has propelled many to an exceptionally important point: being completely secure with who one is and what one wants/needs. And though I'm not quite there yet, I'm starting to understand how this phenomena can be true. I'm managing to become at ease with my whereabouts—reveling in a routine, trusting my evolution, accepting that I'll always seek more... whether that's a Northern Lights sighting, an evening at the Bolshoi Theatre, or a South African road trip. All in good time, my friends.

P.S. This is my 1210th post. For greater perspective, here is my 1st one (when I was a mere babe [8 years ago]). Oy.

a new york holiday

{The Rad Trads}

“And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of things that have never been, full of work that has never been done, full of tasks, claims, and demands; and let us see that we learn to take it without letting fall too much of what it has to bestow upon those who demand of it necessary, serious, and great things.” --Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke, 1892-1910

the new yorker

{Nice Matin}

staycation, 4e jour

{Zuma Beach morning with K & A; wine-tasting evening in Culver City at Bar & Garden (and beyond)}

life's a beach

Hey, is this thing still on?

I can hardly believe it's August 3rd already. It's been more than two months since I lived in Paris! Not to mention one month since I settled in Los Angeles, before venturing to the Pacific coast (Long Beach) with my mom, for the first time in almost three years.

{Long Beach}

It was the Fourth of July then and we rode bikes along the beach with old neighbors of ours. I felt like I was on vacation. It amazed me that beachfront mornings, afternoons, and evenings could become an ordinary mainstay in my new home. Still does actually. And now that I'm practically an "Angeleno" (with a shiny California driver's license to prove it), my cousin decided it was about time I pick "my beach." Yesterday, he took my visiting friend Hannah and I on an L.A. beach tour--from Hermosa Beach to Malibu.

{Manhattan Beach}

{Venice}

What a multidimensional city I live in, let me tell you. I was mistaken when I'd thought sand + sun + surf would translate to a mildly consistent look and feel to these waterfront communities. Loved enjoying, comparing and contrasting four of them in just one day.

{Malibu}

As I learn a new job in a new city in a country I haven't lived full-time in in two years, simplistic preconceived notions of this most recent home of mine are being debunked one by one. It's wonderful. Wonderful and overwhelming. Living this real life is quite honestly the hardest thing I've ever attempted to do. So, although I do promise to eventually revive my blogging habits, I ask you to please be patient with me until then. In the mean time: a get-to-know Los Angeles reading list. These two books first.

california, here I come

Before my grandma left to visit my aunt in Belgium, she told me she'd wanted to live in Los Angeles. There was so much more space and sunshine than in Queens, she said; flowers and produce, too. She savored those 9 months helping her aunt. Decades later, my mom took me to see her cousins. It wasn't her first time (and apparently not my own either--we'd visited while she was pregnant) but I remember it specifically because I brought Elmo with me... and promptly forgot him on the shuttle bus. I was devastated as you can imagine. And though watching "Seepy Booty" did help, it took me another 18 years to get the nerve to go back myself.

{Leslie & I's Airbnb - Biarritz, France} 

Now, when my flight lands this afternoon, I'm returning to live. I'll first enjoy the weekend with K and her husband. Next, I'll visit my office for the first time, and see my apartment, and meet my roommate. My mom will arrive a few days later. We'll pick up my car and bedroom furniture together, as well as celebrate the Fourth. By then I should feel like a Los Angeles resident, right? Words cannot express how anxious and eager to make myself at home--mostly because this New Yorker is hoping for that je ne sais quoi... eek! Be in touch as soon as I'm barely somewhat reasonably settled :) see you on Instagram in the mean time.

elevator music

As anticipated (though not mentioned), three weeks is too long to wait. I've been uncomfortably nostalgic and sensitive, and anxious, to discover the life that awaits me. But, three weeks seems to have been just enough time to leisurely reconnect with those who matter. My family and I barbecued last night, and in the days before, I caffeinated/lunched/museum-ed/hiked/picnic-ed/happy hour-ed with the best of friends. This past Sunday evening is especially noteworthy. La crème de la crème and I dined at The Cleveland:

From beginning to end, it was the perfect meal experience. We shared a bottle of crisp and chilled rosé, our appetites soon piqued with the addition of black sesame bread, soft orange blossom butter, and jalapeño pesto. As the sun set on the streets of New York, we then savored Chef Max Sussman's New American cuisine (brussels sprouts salad, crisp duck pastry, grilled whole eggplant) with more wine. And after, much to my surprise, our waiter treated us to "good luck in LA" almond cake, served with a fantastic rhubarb curd and creme fraiche gelato.  Had the ladies not enticed me with a digestif at Mother's Ruin, I quite possibly may have never left. One thing's for certain though: in just a few days, I will definitely miss being able to enjoy their company.

la pause new-yorkaise

Can I complain for just a minute, please? Because all the "...before you leave again"s are becoming unbearable. C'est trop.

If only they knew how much I wish I'd been able to settle; to have stayed with comfort and ease in a familiar setting, enjoying the countless benefits of having family and friends consistently close by; to have appreciated New York for everything it is and isn't, and to not have longed for something different. I have no desire to be a nomad nor gypsy, despite how far my "globetrotting tendencies" have taken me. I'm simply working towards a destination that includes roots and routine alongside great love and adventure. Or at least trying to. And so few parts of the journey have been simple at all, and more often than not, the experience is isolating, but I do think I'm getting closer to contentment. I truly want that. And I hope with all my heart that the life I've created is leading me there.

So, please, don't playfully criticize the many mailing addresses. It's because I've tired of missing you that I need your support more than ever. You'll always have mine, you know. Besides, if it matters, I've never not wished you could've been there, too.

the kingdom of alba

My grandpa made his Instagram debut yesterday. It's because of him (or his parents, rather) that I can attribute some of my multicultural heritage to the Scots (and Irish); specifically, that of royal blood. Please note: It wasn't until two weeks ago that I discovered the second part of that fact. (Please also note: its legitimacy has yet to be thoroughly investigated. I'm on it though.)

And thus, I promptly fell in love with and felt at home in Edinburgh. The friendly warmth and thoughtful courtesy of the Scottish people paired with the city's incredible historic charm and vibrant greenery may also have had something to do with it. Behold:

Having dinner plans at the Vintage with Stephanie didn't hurt either. Nor did Lorelei and I's twilight adventures with the British Army. To recreate such a positively unforgettable experience, I'd additionally recommend: strolling down the Water of Leith Walkway, shelling out for Edinburgh Castle, saving pounds at the National Gallery, enjoying Princes Street Gardens, having casual afternoon tea, visiting Her Majesty's local residence, dining at Khushi's, and winding down with Brass Monkey brews. Slàinte!

Now for the context to this Scottish getaway: I'd just moved out of my Parisian flat. My parents were gone and my birthday had been celebrated. I'd been crying pretty consistently for about a week--mostly through goodbyes. Thankfully, a month or so prior, I'd decided to soften the bidding-Paris-adieu blow with a city trip I'd been hoping to make for just about two years. And so I left two big suitcases at Charles de Gaulle airport to fly to Edinburgh for "the jolliest last European hurrah (in the UK (pour l'instant))" with my dear friend Lorelei. Upon our return, I had roughly four hours to then switch terminals, check in, and board my flight to les États-Unis. Never a dull moment, eh? It's no wonder I've already tired of the present-day quiet and calm wait for Los Angeles! Speaking of, by the way, mi abuelo is already planning his visit. He told me so last night. 'Twas a happy Father's Day all around.

nos étoiles contraires

"I have a 30," my mom replied, "and a 45, and a 10. The first two are creams, the 10 is an oil, if you want it." "And I have a 30 spray" added Diane. We'd gotten to the beach early, and there was still a chill in the air; endless options for sun protection, too.

{Lake Tahoe, California}

That was this past Saturday, less than two days after I "officially" moved back to the United States.

Among other things, I'm going to have to get re-used to the plethora of choices in this country of mine. There are just so many--sunscreens, coffee orders, high fructose corn syrups, guns. We so closely align personal freedoms with the ability to independently choose what we take care of, and how we harm. It's quite different from particular French ideologies. This is not to say, of course, that the French don't fight their own battles with obesity, legislation, and the market economy... but differently, nonetheless.

Then there are other choices, at least for those of us who enjoy access to them. By mere chance, I've been lucky in that I was born in a country built on egalitarian ideals to a family that provided me with opportunities to develop my ideas about its imperfect realities. I've been lucky, too, to have had experiences to refine such criticisms abroad. They've made me want to come back, to do something about it, however small my individual prowess; and I can because forward-thinking ingenuity and innovation is rewarded here; encouraged even, with the support of those who I'm fortunate to have love me. That said, it makes reintegrating myself into Amurica all the more challenging. Reverse culture shock is such a thing. So this is where choosing how we perceive and react to that which we cannot control comes in, I suppose? I do hope I'm able to choose as wisely and softly as humanly possible.

The decisions that we so often define our lives by can be overwhelming. In my case, they've also been stressful as I'm almost always concerning myself with the right and wrong, better and best. Even still, I'm finding that these concerns were never meant to be part of the equation. Maybe what matters most is that we choose at all, to keep cultivating our selves and potential. Albeit thoughtfully.

By the way, I read a book on the beach: The [much acclaimed] Fault in Our Stars. It was kind of perfect reading; John Green's easy writing style with heavy subject matter that allowed me to make the most of my transition-amplified emotional tendencies. Not to mention it spoke to certain choices that are and have been close to my heart. "You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you." (Side note: I recently shared my thoughts on marriage on my friend's rooftop, how the trick is to keep choosing the one you love. I simultaneously realized how good of a friend he is to entertain my unmarried opinions). And thus, ideas were further sparked about what else we have the privilege in choosing. I ended up with SPF 30.

sunday supper

It's only Saturday, I know... but Leslie arrives from New York on this lovely March 1st! Yippee, and, already? I've been diligently working on my thesis so as to fully enjoy these next few days hosting. On the agenda: Sunday brunch at Cafe Madam, an afternoon along the canal, three days in Basque country (!), an evening at L'Institut Finlandais, an exhibition (or ten), and wine at Verjus, etc.

Now back to this whole "Sunday supper" thing; the Northern Spy occasion at which I last saw Leslie (and Anna, and Elaine). What a comforting treat that was. In between bites of mixed greens, lamb shepards pie, and chocolate panna cotta, we laughed through trials and tribulations of the twenty-something adventure. There wasn't a strand of doubt nor worry in my head as I took the train home.

Once safe and sound in my bed, I spent a few minutes reading Looking for Alaska. Debra had lent it to me. It was my first John Green book. And though I didn't absolutely love the story as she had, I was impressed with the ending; an essay by the protagonist on religion, faith, "the Great Perhaps." My favorite line: "We need never be hopeless because we can never be irreperably broken."

He's a wise one, that John Green (if Pinterest is any indication). This morning, I looked up more quotes from his other works and especially appreciated this Paper Towns one: "What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person." As well as: "What is the point of being alive if you don't at least try to do something remarkable?" from An Abundance of Katherines. So good. Alright. Well, I suppose that's enough deep thought for one day :) I'm off to meet my darling friend who's visiting me again.

new american

I went out for French food once while I was home in New York--to Saint-Georges with my little brother. I saved enjoying Mexican cuisine for Christmas Eve and the country itself. Otherwise, I just sought out pizza, sushi, my mom's cooking, and New American. Those last two are difficult to come by in Paris. Understandably so, I suppose! Especially as 'New American' isn't exactly defined.

My thesis has evolved since I first announced my research in detail. For starters, I'm not going to be able to do a study of both New York and London. There simply isn't enough time. I've had to narrow my cuisine-focus as well. So, rather than limit myself to food of a particular ethnicity, I've decided to tackle the opposite. Who, what, where, why, and how is 'New American' cuisine? And what does it reveal about the changing face of America? I'm hoping my findings will be applicable elsewhere; like, say, neo-bistros.

In addition to savoring time with friends and family, I also visited multiple New American restaurants, whether they'd been notably identified by print/online publications or defined themselves as such. The fact that I "visited" them (versus "dined at") is important. An expensive menu seem to be one of the most common characteristics of New American eateries. In essence, socio-economic or class exclusion may be more prevalent than anything race-related. Other shared traits: chef celebrity and local/organic sourcing.

Interesting stuff... for which I was beyond relieved to receive right-on-track validation from my professor this past week. I even walked away with a bi-monthly research to-do list! Also, lucky for my Parisian social life, there's more to me than nerdiness. Top new haunts include Maison F and Lockwood. Enjoying them with friends as great as mine is recommended. Happy weekend :).