Author: pdlamarre

On Dit Oui à la France, Baby!

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The first stop on our France tour was Bourges. We flew from Thessaloniki to Lyon and drove five hours and some change, in the typical fall rain, to this picturesque cum medieval and totally French city in the Loire Valley. Our place was up three flights of rather arduous steps. OK, to be fair, three flights is not a lot, but … my luggage. I was so proud of myself for packing a relatively small bag, but despite my best efforts it was still somehow bewilderingly 20 kg. Anyhoo, the apartment could not have been cuter: top floor mansard, with tons of skylights and views of the beautiful, gothic Bourges Cathedral.

Dinner the first night was a gourmand’s feast: a bottle of delightful red Sancerre, bread (mais bien sûr!) and butter (my order of which always elicits first a pretense of misunderstanding my non-native French, then a combination of surprise, offense, eye rolls, and/or barely concealed disdain, none of which I give a flying *&#@ about ‘cuz French butter is divine), pork terrine as the entrée, followed by an exquisitely tender lamb shank served in a mini cauldron with silky mashed potatoes and veggies, finished off with mousse au chocolat accompanied by a lovely glass of armagnac. Didn’t bode well for my current or post vacation waistline, and set the stage for the culinary debauchery that predictably followed: baguettes, more of that indescribably delicious beurre with thick jambon, fondue, velouté (our cold weather go-to), rich chocolat chaud, les vins rouge et blanc… All. Just. Yum.

Everything in Bourges — cathedrals, restaurants, même les rues — had a bit of the fairy tale and drama about it. The weather was no exception, and was alternately chilly, sunny, rainy, and on our full last day crazy windy (40+ mph). But it made our (clearly absolutely necessary) walks interesting and the (obviously) subsequent restaurant forays super cozy. We left there a little bit fatter, but with big smiles on our fuller faces. Sans doute, it was the perfect start to our French adventure. Next up: Tours.

Thessaloniki Is a Total Vibe

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We had an enjoyable stay in the Bay Area before heading to our home away from home. This time we flew straight to Thessaloniki, a city that never gets old. Part of the reason is literal, since it hosts Greece’s largest university (Aristotle) and is therefore full of students. But beyond that, it is 100% alive, and both endearingly and unapologetically raw. Intoxicating scents of spice and confection are juxtaposed against a seemingly infinite backdrop of picturesque outdoor tables, lively conversation, and clinking glasses. The waterfront is incongruous and at the same time somehow perfectly placed, lending a sigh of relief to the near palpable pulse of the city. The sky is bright blue despite the almost defiant prevalence of non-electric cars and generous quantities of cigar and cigarette smoke. Graffiti is pervasive, but taggers mar neither beautiful buildings nor their brethren’s art painted on metal storefront gates. Saturday nights are without fail full-on, with a surreal quiet that follows on Sunday mornings, often as not punctuated by post-party, loudly heated exchanges.

It was the first time we’d been in Greece this late in the year, and it was odd to don gloves, scarves, and even the occasional coat. We saw music and dance performances at the Thessaloniki Concert Hall (lovely venue with multiple auditoriums), rode bicycles beside and beyond the water, hosted my dear friend and freshman college roommate, took Greek lessons (because of course we had to fall in love with a country that has not only an incredibly challenging language but also a different flipping alphabet), cooked and ate some incredible meals, joined an amazing gym with top-notch equipment and classes (including my beloved Pilates reformer), checked out the graffiti and photography museums, did one (just one!) puzzle, and … la pièce de résistance … played some pickleball! Pickleball is in da house! It’s an indoor facility and by no means perfect, but it’s well and enthusiastically attended, and happening every Monday night from 7 – 10ish p.m. With that, it could not get any better. Officially.

One more thing to love about Thessaloniki is its airport, making travel super convenient and — especially to other European cities — relatively inexpensive. Hence, after six weeks there, we boarded a plane to la belle France.

Singapore Is a Sweet and Sterile Mash-Up

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I never had Singapore in my travel sights, but as it was only a few hours from Indonesia we asked, “Why not?” And while I had no idea what to expect — other than good food — it was nevertheless unexpected.

First off, it was hot. Very hot. And humid. It shouldn’t have been a surprise given it’s in Southeast Asia, but for some reason it was. I also thought it would be colorful, but with few exceptions it was pretty monochromatic. Everything was pristine with predominantly silver facades, zero trash in the streets, super green streets, eery quiet for a bustling city (most cars are electric now, and by 2040 all will be clean energy), manicured to a tee, with a strong mall game. Even the night market, although fun and lively, managed to somehow feel buttoned up.

The city felt like a futuristic Pleasantville.

We visited the National Gallery of Singapore (beautifully curated), the National Museum (where the standard collections were sadly closed) and the Botanic Gardens (immaculate), checked out a cool yet low key corny jazz club, and took an evening riverboat cruise complete with a perfectly timed laser light show. We also saw the latest new movies: Above and Below (intense), Insidious (crazy), The End of Oak Street (entertaining), The Invite (excellent), and Spider-Man (engrossing, especially for a 2.5-hour sequel). Every day was punctuated with consistently delicious food, from Korean BBQ to dumplings and a fabulous final night of yakitori with the best sake we’ve had to date.

We packed it in for our five-day stay. No need to return, but glad we went. Next up: a trip to the Bay Area to see friends and family before heading to Greece for the fall, our favorite time of year there.

Lombok Is Bali’s Cinderella

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We were excited to head to the mainland of Kuta, which promised a little more action and a lot more beaches than Gili Air. An intense 30-minute speedboat trip was followed by an equally harrowing and somewhat alarming drive to our hotel. We bypassed lush terrain and breathtaking beaches, only to see the streets get busier and decidedly less beautiful as we made way.

As our ride foreshadowed, we were initially disappointed in Kuta. We knew it was going to be less hectic than Bali, but still … The beauty and serenity of Gili Air felt like a distant memory as we were lambasted by the contrasting traffic, noise, and garbage of the island. After our initial shock, though, we settled in nicely. The town was within walking distance of our “villa” (their description, not ours) and was loaded with shops and excellent restaurants. Spending so much time in Mexico and Greece, we’ve really missed good Asian food, and it did not disappoint: delicious, inexpensive, and delivered with the same outstanding service as on Gili Air. Must be an Indonesian thing. 

Highlights beyond the culinary: a tour of rice fields (beautiful), a weaving village (more interesting than anticipated), and a 4.5-mile, steep, muddy, and unexpectedly challenging hike to four dramatic waterfalls that almost made the crazy trek worth it. Lazy days at the beach (most notably Sanjun Ahn, with beautiful water and the softest sand I’ve ever felt). A snorkeling trip to the Secret Gilis (Gede, Layar, and Rengit) where we were surprised by clear, cool water and bright blue coral and starfish. And a fabulous new private villa (a real one this time) where we stayed for our final night after a scheduling snafu forced us out of our digs a day early. Excellent recovery.

I also finally finished Anna Karenina. It used to be one of my faves, but maybe I have less patience now? Whatever the case, I was over the characters halfway through the book and frankly just wanted Anna to get on with it. Did two more satisfying puzzles. Made some good meals. Ate too many delicious baguettes from the local French bakery. Went for a couple more dives (meh), as well as some excellent boxing, conditioning, yoga, and pilates workouts at the beyond stunning Xenofit gym, which was included in our hotel stay and helped compensate for the aforementioned baguettes plus dumplings and more.

After three weeks on Kuta, we were happy to have avoided death or dismemberment by two- or four-wheelers. (One would be wise to meander mindfully there; keep your wits, keep your limbs.) Satisfied that we had done it justice, we were ready to move on. Next up: a short stint in Singapore. 

Gilis Are In the Air

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We spent a fun, busy, and super short time in the Bay Area before heading to our next virgin scuba diving destination: Indonesia. We had never gone, always wanted to, and weren’t disappointed.

The most famous gilis (meaning “small island” in the local Sasak language) are a trio just off the northwest coast of Lombok: Gili Meno, Gili Trawangan, and Gili Air. Gili Meno is reportedly for honeymooners, and Gili T is for partiers. We opted for Gili Air, which falls somewhere in between, and turned out to be lovely and borderline magical.

We flew into Bali and swapped the mayhem for a two-hour ferry ride to the infinitely more peaceful Gili Air, where we were met by horse-drawn carts which then transported us to our hotel. Definitely a first. The second observation was how strikingly quiet it was. There are no cars or motorcycles on the island; modes of transportation are the aforementioned horses, electric scooters, bicycles, and feet. Third was how the whole place resembled a movie set: narrow streets lined with trees and restaurants and shops, interspersed with darting chickens, all doing their respective things. The rhythm of horses’ hoofbeats, the chirping of tiny birds, the faint echoes of wood being hammered, and the melodic recitation of daily prayers were the most consistent sounds. ASMR down.

The food was inexpensive and outstanding. And chicken is a staple, so I was in poultry paradise. Our resort, Blue Marlin Dive, was also top notch, as were the instructors. While the diving, especially visibility, was not as awe-inspiring as we’d expected, it was certainly good (despite intermittent encounters with strong current, made more alarming by their seeming randomness). Coral health was hit and miss, but sea life was pretty abundant: sharks, tons of turtles, and all kinds of fish I’d never seen before. Clown triggerfish and sweetlips are a couple of my new faves, the latter with clear bonus points for its name alone. All in all, solid diving but not worthy of a top site ranking.

The weather was perfect — 80s with breezes — and the overall vibe was quiet contentment. Everyone was positive and super smily, and service was beyond reproach. It reminded me of Canada, where we were constantly taken aback because everyone appeared so genuinely friendly. But we adjusted our cold, suspicious hearts once again, and spent two delightful weeks diving, biking, strolling, eating, drinking, playing backgammon and mini golf, reading, and puzzling. A beautiful introduction to Indonesia. Next up: Lombok proper, otherwise known as the mainland. 

Around the Sea (of Cortez) in 60 Days 

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We experienced some sweet sailing and anchorages during our summer on the water. The Kouk is like an old school Lincoln Continental: long, smooth and dependable, traditional with a smidge of edge, and just the right amount of comfort and kick. An altogether pleasant ride.

In addition to Santispac and El Burro, we sailed to Mulegé, Pullpita, San Juanico, Coronados, Puerto Escondido, Honeymoon Cove, Agua Verde, Los Gatos, San Evaristo, San Francisco, Bahia Falsa, and La Paz before sailing back to San Carlos. In a sea of loveliness, the standouts were Coronados and La Paz. 

Coronados is, simply put, amazing. Pristine water, white sand beaches, total quiet, few boat neighbors. An island accessible only by boat, it’s exactly the sort of spot I envisioned when I dreamt of sailing. Bonus bookends: While in the cockpit one morning admiring a beautiful sunrise, I heard heavy breathing, only to be surprised by a pod of dolphins swimming casually past our boat.  And then before a breathtaking sunset, T put some chicken fat on a line and caught a sizable fish. Nature has been seriously naturing.

Then there’s La Paz, which was equally fabulous but in a completely different way since it’s an actual city. Upon arrival it was a little hairy navigating a super tight marina, which — although it was nothing to write home about — was in fact a marina, with electricity and showers and a nice little restaurant with good food, great service, and generous mezcal pours. The town itself is cute, and has fairly new pickleball courts, so that was an obvious plus. The water and beaches are super clean and the water super clear. The Museo del Arte was another highlight: small, free, and unexpectedly impressive. But by far the star of the show was the weather, which was perfect: warm during the day and cool in the mornings and evenings. I actually wore jeans at night on an excursion to see Scary Movie 6 — the only movie playing in English so don’t judge — and didn’t self combust. The locals told us the breezes were an anomaly, but we were simply grateful. The one bummer was that I hadn’t brought my scuba gear, as the diving was supposed to be excellent. Alas.

Our forays into the Sea of Cortez were delicious and memorable. Absolutely zero complaints. I suppose at some point we could become blasé about this whole sailing business, but as of yet we’re not even close. Most of life at sea has been pretty consistently surreal. 

After we head back to San Carlos for hellacious boat storage prep in the midst of merciless A/C-less heat and humidity — complemented by a proper nearby house rental, so we won’t be consistently suffering — we’ll make a short trip to the Bay Area to see family and friends before our annual scuba diving excursion, this year to Indonesia. 

El Burro Beckons

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El Burro is part of a cluster of beaches in Bahia Concepción. so less than a one-hour sail from Santispac. The two spots are therefore both unsurprisingly similar and distinctly different. Same chill vibe, but more so. Fewer boats — not that were many in Santispac — and fewer huts, RVs, and people in general. The one cafe here, Nomadico, albeit expensive, has very good food, super hospitable proprietors, and excellent mezcal. Carlos, an enterprising local, sells fresh seafood on the beach. The weather was a perfect mid-80s with frequent welcome breezes. The water is clear and the sand is white.

Nothing about this place sucks.

We made two amazing improvements that I feel increasingly qualify us as legit sailors. 1) We made our own yogurt (not nearly as difficult as you might imagine), and 2) We got the water maker going. Both are game changers, but the latter tops the list. Now we can turn sea water into fresh drinking water wherever we go … and it’s actually good. Minds officially blown. To add to our sailorism, we tooled around the neighboring beaches on our dinghy — fully womaned by yours truly, thank you very much — and went for swims at each. One yielded a bountiful clam catch that unfortunately looked better than it tasted; we didn’t properly prep them so they were inedibly grainy. Alas, sea lessons learned.

Noteworthy grub: skewered prawns, pesto pasta with prawns, fresh halibut with udon noodles, chicken wings, rib eye steaks, baked chicken with vegetarian paella, bruschetta on freshly baked baguettes, chocolate chip cookies with walnuts … To be clear, no one is starving up in here. So (obviously necessarily) I’ve started doing boat workouts. Heather Robertson is my current go-to YouTube fitness chick: no frills and no nonsense. Maybe hope can still indeed be kept alive. 

We were here for the full moon and some epic evenings, many of which culminated in binge watching Happy Valley, an excellent and intense British drama series. I finished Hello Beautiful: not deep, and longer than it needed to be, but sufficiently engaging. And now, after years of it topping my list of favorites, I’ve started re-reading Anna Karenina. Like puzzles, I almost never revisit books. But I’ve been feeling the urge for something juicy and meaty, and Tolstoy fits the bill.

After two lovely weeks at El Burro, we headed to Mulegé to stock up on food and diesel (but no water, yes!) en route to Pulpita and then Isla Coronados.

At Last We (Re)Splashed

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After four months on San Carlos land, we were finally back on the water. We spent a week getting reacquainted with full time life on the hook, and then headed to Bahia Concepción, about 100 nautical miles southwest. Our noforeignland boat tracks confirmed (admonished?) that this was our first since June of last year, so we embarked on a 20-hour relatively uneventful (motor)sail — not including the mysterious loss of our autopilot, which annoyingly necessitated hand steering for most of the trip — and arrived on Santispac Beach: a sweet, peaceful little anchorage with markedly greener water and just a few other boats. RVs and campers like it too, since they can pitch tents in private palapas overlooking the sea and park in an open, under-crowded space behind them.

Since I’m rationing my puzzles (only four left, yikes), and can only intermittently ScrabbleGO (can’t seem to shake that habit) due to the end of 24/7 wifi, I’ve been reading again — voraciously, as is par for my endeavors course. First up: Erasure by Percival Everett, a prolific author whose work I was strangely unfamiliar with but came highly recommended by a soror with whom I’ve rekindled a relationship far stronger than it was in college (Shout out to Lisa!). Provocative with complex characters and intricate storylines, it is a clever, layered, and solid read. It also inspired the movie American Fiction, which won an Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay. Ironically I wasn’t as crazy about it after reading the book — too many material plot departures — but it’s nevertheless good to see him getting his flowers. Next up was Murakami, one of my favorites, with his memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running: Enjoyable, quick, and although autobiographical, still written in his signature style. I was also really struck by his quote “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” Poignant in its brevity and stark in its current application to family matters, it strongly resonated with me and was a total aha moment. I then read James, another Everett novel, also very well written and thought provoking. The two books are both different and familiar, and I look forward to reading more … maybe I Am Not Sidney Poitier next. Finally, Eastbound, by Maylis de Kerangal, another author recommendation by a good friend (Salut, Laurence!) is a tiny book packing a concentrated literary punch.

As is usually the case, we ate well: blueberry scones, pumpkin bread, steaks, mapo tofu, clam and garlic pizza, an unfortunate chicken dish by yours truly (Boo, New York Times), chicken wings (much more successful and fortunately commandeered by Captain T), and a surprisingly delicious and totally improvised celery, chicken, and potato soup. All told, our time at Santispac was incredibly chill and a pretty complete 180 from San Carlos. In addition to swimming, we did a big hike up a nearby mountain … but without the schedule of the gym and the regularity of pickleball, I’m going to have to carve out some time to do some weights and get some proper, regular exercise soon. T’s much better and more motivated to sweat in solitude (swimming, rowing, kayaking), while I like a routine and gravitate towards more organized activities that include — but don’t necessarily require communion with — other people. Either way, I’m gonna have to do better. Here’s hoping all that and more happens at our next stop: Playa el Burro.

Don’t Disturb This Groove

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It was a little jolting to be back in Mexico after a few weeks on the west coast. And while it was fun (always!) to see family and friends in the Bay Area, it was cold … and even colder in Washington (made a quick jaunt to catch up with a longtime friend and see the highly entertaining RuPaul’s Drag Christmas), so it was expected but still bizarre to be hit by the Mexican heat wall upon our December arrival. Definitely neither sweaters nor gloves wanted nor needed.

It was nice too to be back in San Carlos, specifically. It’s a little city with dramatic mountains, beaches, and skylines, and it grows on you the more time you spend there. Since the Kouk was on the hard, we rented an apartment to facilitate boat prep, wait out the nasty northerlies, and frankly minimize unnecessary roughing it (cuz … why?). Our first full day we hightailed it to the nearest (OK, only) gym, and signed up immediately to atone for our extensive European dietary transgressions and diminish as much proof of said sins as possible. And, of course, as San Carlos is home to the largest (16-court!) pickleball club in Mexico, I re-registered posthaste.

It goes without saying that traveling is fantastic. That said, it’s also nice to stay put for a minute and relish a little routine. I did yoga and weights and pilates reformer classes three times a week, played pickleball three to five times a week, and rode my folding bike to and from each venue. I also participated in a few pickleball tournaments. Even won gold in one, although I’m at least currently convinced that tourneys aren’t my thing: too stressful and pressure packed, thus not especially enjoyable, which is after all the point … What was T doing during all this time you might ask? Well, working on the boat por supuesto. He had a list of literally hundreds of tasks, and blessedly didn’t want me in the way for most of it. It also gave him an excuse to blow off his gym membership, so a win-win. 

Anyhoo, we met some great people, had some great times, and were essentially in no rush to leave. I got my drama out of the way early on: wide street grate plus unfortunate forearm, knee, and leggings disaster plus shocked lying-in-the-street-but-trying-to-get-up-quickly-to-avoid-prolonged-mortification plus bravely riding home dripping blood plus prompt spousal doctoring (with iodine, no less) equalled an experience that was inevitably all uphill from there. Between the shrimp festival (winner: to-die-for bacon wrapped langoustine), full moon beach party complete with beautifully colorful fire-lit lanterns we personally launched into the clear black sky, locally produced and somewhat insane musical The Follies, countless plates of amazing avocado toast with fried egg and bacon (crazy yum) on the courts made by the equally amazing Sarayi, on par with the bulging containers of Pollo Lopez’s consistently delicious rotisserie chicken with roasted potatoes and onions peppers and salsa that just fit in my pickleball backpack, a host of good dinners and card games and the continued refinement of my escalating mezcal addiction … ummm, appreciation … some seriously good times were had by all. 

With the exception of a week in lively Mexico City, we stayed in San Carlos almost exactly four months. The final countdown was the first week of April, when we left our last apartment, moved away from easy access showers and dishwashers and water and large washer/dryers and air conditioning, and back onto the boat. We then put a punctuation mark on all of T’s hard work and did some majorly satisfactory cleaning — the likes of which you generally only do when you’re about to sell your house — and settled into life in the yard before we provisioned for our next passage and finally (successfully!) splashed on April 7. Despite the fabulous stay it was time, and we were ready to spend a few months escaping the heat of the city and exploring more of the Sea of Cortez. We anchored for a few more days before we said gracias and adios to San Carlos, and headed to our next stop: Bahia Concepción.

Mexico City Es la Bomba

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And I mean that pretty much literally.

Especially after the relative calm of San Carlos, Mexico City is explosive. Everything is a study of extremes: noise, traffic, crowds, poverty, opulence, culture, smells … There are also crazy juxtapositions everywhere: the magnificence of the post office against the shabbiness of its and its neighbors’ facades, the dirt of downtown amidst a plethora of fancy perfumeries (no less than three on each side of each street), a stunning upscale rooftop restaurant across the street from a drug addict vomiting fluorescent orange onto the sidewalk, colorful settlements glimpsed from the highway that at first glance look like charming little neighborhoods and upon closer inspection reveal themselves to be slums. 

We were only in Mexico City for a week, so we crammed: the requisite stunning museums (Museo Nacionale de Arte, National Museum of Anthropology, Museo de Arte Moderno, Museo Soumaya), a visit to the Museo del Palacio des Belles Artes (beautiful venue and an operatic program with a duet — bless their hearts —whose talent was a distant match to their enthusiasm, a trip to the Teotihuacan Pyramids (awe-inspiring), indulgence at El Moro Churreria (excellent artisanal churros accompanied by a slew of international hot chocolates), lots of walking and people watching and bookstores and eating and drinking and open-mouthed gaping at the sheer industry of the city and its inhabitants. To say there was a dearth of slackers would be a profound understatement. We wondered initially why we were so exhausted after every foray, but it quickly became clear: every outing was a sensory overloaded onslaught. We were also staying in the historical downtown area, so within walking distance to mucho and also right in the thick of both the exciting and less savory of it all. And there’s always at least one bizarre (to me) aspect to every city. Speaking of unsavory, in Mexico City is was the plethora of perfumeries. Seriously, like several on each side of every block.

Would I go back to Mexico City? Probably, after seeing other large Mexican cities first. (Guadalajara, for one, is highly recommended.) For round two I’d at minimum stay in a different area, check out the Frida Kahlo Museum, and attend a Las luchas event. I’m not mad at the way we popped our Mexico City cherry — something we’d always wanted to do — and I’m stoked that we took the time to experience it.