Tag: travel

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. 

Bilbao En Train

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There are lots of things to love about Europe. One biggie is the transit system. So we decided to capitalize on it with a quick trip from Bordeaux to Bilbao, Spain. Google said we could do it, after all … And after a curt “c’est pas possible” from the initial train assistant, a little persistence from yours truly revealed that indeed it was. 

Bilbao was a cool adventure we were rather proud of ourselves for undertaking. We rode the SNCF for three hours to the edge of France and then switched to a Spanish line, Euskotren, for two more legs and a total of another couple of hours. There’s something simultaneously ordinary and extraordinary about a train ride: viewing random towns and countrysides as you speed past; checking out your fellow passengers, their companions, conversations, attire; avoiding unnecessary eye contact with unwaveringly officious conductors; imagining the stories of all the above … all the while being lulled by the myriad sounds and cradling of the ride itself. Everything is infused with a touch of magic, mystery, and romance — the perfect backdrop for boundless drama.

That said, with the exception of the inevitable fare dodger and one small delay, our trip was drama free, everything ran smoothly, and we arrived in beautiful Bilbao that evening. We stayed at a lovely hotel — they had me at the free glass of cold cava upon arrival — a short walk from the Guggenheim, and the weather was a pleasant ten degrees warmer than Bordeaux. The first night we spent eating overpriced and underwhelming tapas, and unintentionally wandering in the (belatedly apparent) seedier part of the ‘hood. The next day we got it together, though, starting with an outstanding day at the Guggenheim. The internal architecture in and of itself was stunning, and one exhibition in particular — by the previously unknown to us artist Maria Da Silva — was everything you want art to be: unique, provocative, and exceptional. The other floors showcased contemporary art, which was (as always) hit and miss. We had an appetizing lunch at the museum restaurant, and finished the day with a relaxing stroll by the water.

The following day we visited the Fine Arts Museum (unfortunately the permanent exhibit was closed due to construction), a couple beautiful cathedrals, a more-like-it tapas lunch at La Ribera Market, and an evening kicked off with a traditional Basque dance and music performance and an unexpectedly expensive-but-pretty-darn-delicious dinner. (Recommended by our Guggenheim waiter, by the way, who said that was where he and his colleagues ate. And to whom I now ask in absentia, “How much are they paying waiters these days?”) Anyhoo, it was good, we were satisfied, and that’s all she wrote.

We left the following morning at 8:30, since our final train to Bordeaux was at 4:00 and T likes to be at airports, train stations, bus depots (you get the picture) a minimum of three and ideally five hours prior to departure. Clearly some past travel trauma necessitates this behavior, and perhaps I even had a hand in said trauma, but really … We made it back to Bordeaux in good form and enjoyed our last few days in the city before heading back to Athens, then Marina del Rey, and after an incredible three months in Europe, finally back to the Bay Area for a petite visite prior to resuming boat life in Mexico. 

Pau en Voiture

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We decided to temporarily leave the amazingness of Bordeaux and take a side trip to Pau. After an auspicious start — during which Enterprise Rent-A-Car gave away our reserved voiture, then after paying three times the original amount elsewhere we couldn’t figure out how to put the dang thang in reverse … while facing downhill with a large parked car in front of us, all the while wondering why we’d decided to leave Bordeaux in the first place — we took our Renault on a lovely little road trip. Rain was forecast but the sun was rebelliously out in spades, and we navigated the endless ronds points rather expertly, if I do (admittedly as the passenger) say so myself. Nothing but admiration for the verdant countryside, with T salivating over all the castles on the way, most notably the Château de Cazeneuve. We finally arrived in Pau after four leisurely and utterly pleasant hours.

Bordeaux is to Pau what Athens is to Symi: a study in country contrasts. Where Bordeaux is urban cosmopolitan, Pau is — especially en route — rural medieval. Bustling and high brow vs. mild and down to earth. Shiny vs. matte. Pau is a tiny condensed city, with a pretty rough entry once we left the countryside. It didn’t help that it took forever to find the actual apartment, and then longer to find the parking, only to arrive with towels on the floor and paper in the bin. All was blessedly sorted while we went to dinner, though, at a restaurant literally right next door to our place, as we contentedly consumed delicious grilled prawns and a bottle of chilled Sancerre. Things were most certainly looking up.

We spent our first full day exploring the city, which is super cute in the light of day. Beautiful mountains, architecture, and castles galore. Visited the Musee des Beaux-Arts (unexpectedly fantastic), had an excellent Asian fusion prix fixe lunch, and topped it all off with what T described as the best macarons he’d ever tasted in life. High praise from Monsieur. Day two we drove to Lescar and Sauveterre-de-Bearn, two darling little towns a couple hours outside of Pau. Castles, churches, and beautiful countryside, with the perfect combination of majesty and magic, and that fresh, crisp air you can both feel and taste. Everything and everyone welcoming and unassuming.

We left on Halloween — at this point sad we’d miss the festivities that were being prepared directly under our living room window — and arrived back in Bordeaux without incident. The next week and a half would be spent in a different section of the city next to the Gare St. Jean, a little grittier than our previous digs but steps from the train station. Maybe we’ll take advantage of our new location and see the Guggenheim in Bilbao?

Bordeaux, Let’s Go (On Y Va)!

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We hadn’t been to France in over a decade, and we (especially T) were seriously jonesing. So we made the relatively spontaneous decision to add a Bordeaux jaunt to our Greek getaway.

Très bonne idée.

While it was overcast for much of our time there, the weather just added to the ambience. There’s something romantic and quintessentially European about walking through a rainy cobblestoned city, surrounded by melodic accents, ducking into random (i.e. not Yelp or Google or Tripadvisor-veriified) cafés and restaurants, eating fabulous food and drinking delicious wine. (It was Bordeaux after all, and le vin did not disappoint.) We had perfect little apartments — on Rue Judaïque, just outside the center, for the first part of our stay, and near Gare St. Jean for the second — and we happily and busily explored the city for a lovely and sublimely unforgettable three weeks.

Extensive urban planning is obvious in Bordeaux. Transportation, services, and public spaces have been designed with a clearly pedestrian-forward mindset. It is not a car-friendly city, with scarce parking and meandering routes. Uber is also expensive, slow to arrive, and tedious; it routinely took 15+ minutes to travel less than three miles. Surprisingly homogenous stone building facades aside, Bordeaux is a city you’re meant to soak up and enjoy by foot, bike, or metro.

We visited the famous Cité du Vin and the Musée des Beaux-Arts. Bought some excellent bottles from the Badie wine store. Snagged a designer coat from a vintage clothes shop for less than 100€. Saw One Battle After Another (great after Teyana Taylor exited stage left), Predator Badlands (unexpectedly fantastic, undoubtedly helped by the full-on intense immersive theater experience), and The Conjuring (also highly entertaining). The latter two were shown in French and I actually understood most of the dialogue and subtitles, merci beaucoup. Checked out quite a few (cheaper than the states but still overpriced) places for sale. Found some amazing bookstores. Took advantage of the region and had copious amounts of delicious wine to complement equally delicious, refreshingly and reasonably priced prix fixe menus. And, in part to justify the consistent overindulgence, we walked and walked and walked, only missing bicycles with baskets holding fresh baguettes and flowers to complete the picture.

All told, I would 100% visit Bordeaux again. It reminded me how much I miss the whole experience of France, ensconced in fairy tale-like landscapes and history, dining and imbibing in quaint restaurants, hearing and speaking that melodious language, and enjoying the sheer civility of it all. Mwah/Bisous!

Symi Sloth 

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By the time we got to Symi — after all our quasi exertions — we were well ready to chill. And chill we did. Properly. For six. straight. weeks. By far the laziest time we’d spent on the island to date. Weather was for the most part a perfect sunshine/breeze combo, intermittently and unprecedentedly chilly, with more rain than we’d ever experienced. We even put the heat on a few times … a Symi first. Symi in September and October is a dream. Summer, when temps regularly hit mid-to high 80’s but somehow feel so much hotter … not so much.

What to say about Symi? It’s a fairy tale-esque little island, rough around the edges but oozing with charm. It was love at first sight for us and this tiny (year-round population of approximately 2,500, tripled in high season) little hot pocket. It has a “downtown” (Yialos), and “village” (Chorio), both comprised of mostly grand, super colorful, Italian-influenced houses. A picture-perfect port with a mix of exquisite and more accessible yachts alongside a smattering of fishing boats. Your customary Greek restaurants and coffee shops with outdoor seating skirting the shore. The ever-present smell of Greek spices wafting as you walk about town. It’s both simple and unexpectedly sophisticated.

There were runs to town for drinking, swimming, and (primarily) food shopping. An around-the-island yacht tour, which included four swimming stops and a massive BBQ lunch replete with (my favorite!) grilled chicken, fava beans, spaghetti, potato and greek salad, green beans, typically terrible Symi wine, and more. Jaunts to beaches where we read, swam, and lazed all day. Chartered a boat with some local friends and did more of the above, with a follow up dinner party at a (new to us) neighbor’s. Another side trip to Thessaloniki. Irregular exercise to YouTube videos. But we honestly spent most of our days reading, puzzling, taking in the view of the harbor, watching movies, playing ScrabbleGo (which I’m now typically and madly obsessed with), planning and cooking dinner, ignoring our project lists, and deciding if we’d had enough of a break to justify yet another overindulgent happy hour.

Despite the plethora of relative non-activity, our time on Symi flew by. We will return next year and hopefully start our projects early … before we revisit the inevitable sloth mode. For now, though, we bid it a fond adieu as we head to Athens: always a blast and the perfect defibrillator.

Rhodes Roads

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After an hour-long flight from Thessaloniki, we arrived on the considerably rougher roads of medieval Rhodes. Stayed with our favorite family at the Lefka Hotel, where there’s always a warm welcome and a lengthy gab and gossip over tea, coffee, and cake. Unfortunately we followed that up with a regrettably overpriced and underwhelming dinner — particularly disappointing after our recent trip — on a rooftop in Old Town, and then called it a night.

On August 30 we celebrated our 30-year anniversary. Crazy that we’ve been (happily, no less!) married more than half my life. Enjoyed a lazy recuperation day, topped off with a super nice evening at the recently developed marina. I had some crazy vodka and wasabi cream drink that was surprisingly good, T his go-to mojito. We then had a divine dinner at a new (to us) spot, and got the perfect table. (Side note: For most people this would be a casual comment. For me, however, as I’m prone to overthink and later lament decisions — especially if made quickly with an abundance of options — I’ll call both the securing and acknowledging a major coup.) Digressive authorial insight notwithstanding, it was a good sign and boded well. The restaurant was peaceful and properly romantic, the service uncommonly attentive, and our delicious dinner of tagliatelle shrimp and pork belly did not remotely disappoint.

The next day we spent luxuriating on the beach, as we do, blithely procrastinating on the (loosely defined) business we needed to handle. Nevertheless, we ignored our mutual internal nagging and lazily lounged, waiting until our last day to reactivate our WiFi box and eSim, get T’s iPhone battery changed, visit our go-to Rhodian jeweler to get a couple of pieces modified (including an exquisite anniversary bracelet we found in Thessaloniki), and indulge in a hearty lunch of sea bass and pork shank. The day culminated in an absolutely sublime (and free!) tribute concert of classical piano with baritone accompaniment — rivaling any opera I’ve ever attended — in a castle courtyard with amazing complementary acoustics. An unexpected and incredibly special treat. 

P.S. I must say I regret storing my pickleball paddle and shoes in L.A. Apparently there was play in both Thessaloniki and Rhodes, as well as Padel (which I haven’t yet tried but think I will also like/inevitably obsess over.) Alas, I shall not make that mistake again. In the meantime, we head to Symi for a couple months of extended chill time. 

Thessaloniki: Captivating City by the Sea

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We had been intrigued by Thessaloniki for a while, but just never made the time or itinerary to go. This year, we baked it into our trip from the outset. Took a 2½ -hour ferry from Skopelos to Skiathos, flew about a half hour from Skiathos to Athens, then another hour to Thessaloniki … and voilà! We finally landed in the second biggest city in Greece.

Don’t get me wrong: Athens is cool. But it’s also pretty rough. And — despite the excellent museums and restaurants — definitely borderline post-apocalyptic. Thessaloniki on the other hand, while still a large and gritty city, is tamer, less graffiti-forward, more European and elegant overall. It also borders the sea and has an organized grid pattern of double-wide streets and plazas that make the hustle and bustle more inexplicably calming, less cramped and chaotic. It too has a wide variety of restaurants and cuisine, but menus generally showcase greater finesse, at lesser cost, with larger portions. Dining highlights included Caeser salad with our first taste of Xynotyro cheese (major yum), grilled prawns and homemade croutons; fried sardines; quinoa and bulgar salad with tomatoes and fried shrimp (tasted much better than it sounds); beef cheeks with pasta; perfectly cooked sea bass; seafood paella; shrimp with pesto orzo; exquisitely prepared French fries (honestly Greece has the best fries ever, which is saying a lot from a frites aficionado comme moi); and what I love about most Greek restaurants: complimentary tasty and tasteful mini desserts. I was ravenous before each meal, and repeatedly remembered too late to take pictures. You’ll just have to take my word that everything was stunning to both eye and palate.

We visited the Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, the Jewish National Museum, the Museum of Byzantine Civilization, and the Museum of Contemporary Art. All had high quality exhibitions and most were within walking distance of our room. We checked out a mod rooftop bar and also got our movie fix, starting with a double feature: Eden (excellent acting and factually-based storyline, not to be missed) and The Home (shown in the same theater as Eden and unexpectedly and coolly outdoors. That said, the movie itself started out well but got increasingly far-fetched and ultimately unnaturally heroic). We also saw Bring Her Back (riveting if a lot more graphic than I generally like my horror) and The Roses (a refreshingly welcome insertion of comic relief and fun). 

We were proud of our staying power in Thessaloniki (movies start no earlier than 930, bars routinely open until 4), and genuinely loved the city. We did not get enough time here and will for sure be back. It’s a direct flight from Rhodes, so easy enough to revisit. Speaking of Rhodes, it’s next up for a brief stay before we head to Symi.