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rachelinriyadh replied to your post: matriarchales replied to your post: matriarchales...
DISLIKE.
Hey, you're the one who's leaving me for some charming and wealthy guy who's madly in love with you. Why shouldn't I go for the person who's willing to share all of their nail polish and give me manicures?
Porto Cervo Sardegna
I bypassed Corsica on my Italian yachting adventure, and instead spent several days in Porto Cervo, Sardinia.
I found my morning runs in Porto Cervo extra challenging, as it took some maneuvering to run through the tiny lanes and mazes of shops at port
in order to wend my way to what was essentially an uphill expressway to get some straightaways to run, but it was worth it for the views.
Once again we had options for swimming, and I found that the ocean was overly breezy, overly seaweed laden, and really flipping cold.
So another lazy afternoon spent in a bay sized saltwater pool sufficed.
The food in Porto Cervo was once again superb. Seafood bonanzas to be had everywhere.
And have I did.
Until the last night when the idea of eating anything from the sea made me nauseated (a week straight of sea fare, give me a break!) so popcorn was my meal du jour.
I did stroll through that same shopping area that I ran through in the mornings, but I will admit I didn’t buy anything on the island until I hit the airport. The prices were astronomical, and considering it was mostly the designer faire I had just left behind in New York, I wasn’t that interested.
The weather was perfect though, light sea breezes felt refreshing over sun-baked skin, and cool nights where a shawl on deck is all that was needed. It was a great stop on my summer excursions.
Santa Margherita and Portofino
I cannot write about one port without writing of the other. These two small costal Italian towns are linked by a beautiful 5k long boardwalk that serpentine-ly winds its way along the coast. This was by far one of my most favorite morning runs. As the boardwalk is suspended above the water and gently rises and falls with the mountainous terrain as it meets the sea edge. By experiencing these towns briskly by foot for the first time, I was able to take in the rocky private beaches, each with its own color palette of loungers and umbrellas,
the myriad of lovely yachts tucked into harbors,
and the plethora of tiny cafes to tempt me from my run with double espresso or gelato.
I was fortunate enough to be spending my time on a yacht myself, so after making the run back along the boardwalk to Santa Margherita, showering and dolling myself up a bit I hopped in the tender (a small motor boat used on larger boats to jet short distances) and took the same winding path back to Portofino, only this time from the water rather then the boardwalk.
There is something extra special about pulling into a very populated harbor in a tender. People stopped and watched with anticipation as we wove between the anchored boats to the dock, and whispered as we disembarked and made our way to a café. Then just as quickly they dispersed in search of another spectacle. In Portofino the ways of entertaining yourself are limited in options, but not in quality.
There is amazing food to be had everywhere you turn, beautiful views of the tiny town, or of the bay itself to be seen by making your way up any of the winding stairways into the mountainous terrain encircling the town. And finally, the most popular form of entertainment, shopping. The stores are small boutique styles, with limited merchandise on the floors, and all of impeccable materials and quality. Prices to match. Louis Vitton, Ferragamo, and Cartier al hold shop fronts here, but they are elegantly interspersed with beautiful boutiques housing Italian leather goods and lovely clothes, all proudly made in Italy, as if the idea of imports were for lesser people then those of Portofino.
It was a beautiful, lavish, and charming place to spend a day, an one I shan’t forget quickly.
RachelinRiyadh
Genova (Genoa)
A few notes about Italy before I write about Genova alone. I think it is really fascinating that Italy, as a whole and singular country did not really exist until the end of WW1. For nearly a hundred years prior to that the series of fiefdoms, kingdoms, and city-states had been slowly unifying. What this means, in the grand scheme of things, is that as I get the privilege to travel to different parts of Italy, I find how remarkably different each section is, culturally, architecturally, and in dietary practice, even language. This is something I am growing to greatly appreciate, the non-homogenized Italy. So now, as I write about Genova, I will write of it, not as a section of Italy, but as something unique that stands alone, in conjunction with a greater country.
When I first arrived at the teeny tiny Genova INTL air port, with it’s singular baggage carousel open to the runway, I was impressed not by some quaintness, or endearing quality, but by the mountains. Stepping out of the plane and blinking in the bright slightly yellowed sunlight I find synonymous with all thoughts of Italy, I took in the rolling green hills and overlapping soft peaks of the surrounding countryside and was amazed. So much so that I stopped and blocked the door and was firmly scolded by the crotchety man behind me wanting to get home.
Driving through the city you get an idea of how beautifully and organically it grew. A poet once wrote about Genova “It is like a snake, having swallowed a rabbit, napping on the sea”, and really it is. A city almost the length of a full marathon, stretching out along the water, with a fat historic center, circling around its port, and ergo its center of commerce. It fought the need to climb those steep hillsides as long as was possible, and thus stretched out lengthwise and vertically whenever possible.
From above you can see the city trying to stay along a standard rectilinear grid, then give way to winding roadways, and haphazard angles as it climbs away from the bay and up the moutain sides.
I love how utilitarian the place is in all regards. One of the best examples of this is hillside buildings. The mountains are steep, and many buildings are six story walkups or more. These wise Genovians have made things infinitely easier by adding entrances at the top and the bottom of their homes, so if you happen to be coming down the mountain, you can walk in from the roof rather then the front stoop. Also for 1.5 euros you can ride either the bus, or the local elevator up and down the mountains for an hour and a half. Good deal no?
Driving along the singular expressway, although ‘express’ is open for interpretation, you really get a sense of how the city grew. Architecture ranging from the 1600’s to the 1960’s is built not just next to each other, but totally intertwined. Old exposed cobbled stones merging with jagged seams into colorful stucco. It’s the old and new growing like a tumor from a tree, though which is which is open for interpretation.
I really liked how casually they used history in Genova. Everything was preserved, and recognized, but still used. Old lavish villas are used as music academies and restaurants.
A whole roadway of palaces of late were used as bank buildings and city offices
There was no quiet reverence when looking at the ‘golden salon’ in reality it is where they still hold city council meetings. In order to see the room, you travel up an elevator and make sure there are no meetings in session.
Christopher columbus’s birthplace, and the original city gate stand alone as preserved buildings next to the Gaslini, a large mall, and near an office building.
And my personal favorite was the cambi café. where we dined on THE MOST DELICIOUS RICOTTA ANYWHERE
beneath preserved frescoes, that were barely visible, from eons ago. People would sip wine, break bread, and glance upwards at the ancient mythological scene, then go back to their tomatoes.
*Sidenote that nowhere else in the world have I eaten such delicious tomatoes. I don’t know how, or why, but they are sweeter and taste of summer and sunshine here. Even better then fresh picked from my Philly garden back in the day.
The café was run by this wonderful gentlemen, who in between serving foccacia and wiping tables explained in Italian that he was the owner of the café, and a nearby castle, which he invited us to visit at our leisure.
Genova was charming, but not in a sickeningly saccharine kind of way. I was charmed by the city itself. The way everything was used, but nothing was precious. The way that no one was too proud to stop for gelato, and that effusing about a tomato got me a hearty pat on the back and more tomatoes, rather then a raised eyebrow of disdain. The way that people seemed to know the deep roots of history that were imbedded in their daily lives, and enjoyed that these things were still in use. Genova will stay with me.
Life Choices
If you were friends with someone for over a decade, even if you had fallen out lately (In the nicest way possible, I made sure of that by lying through my teeth)... anyways if you had been close with someone for that long, and they called you after a disaster saying that they hadn't been able to reach their family in nearly 24 hours, and were concerned wether or not they were still alive. If you, person A were already going to go out to examine the carnage, wouldn't you do the kind thing, the just thing and check on person B's family for them?
Ok lets make it harder, what if it was *gasp* a whole 30 minute drive away?
What if you hadn't talked to person B in two months?
Who cares. You check on my family. You just do it. Because a girl I barely know who is the sister of a friend who doesn't even live in the state anymore, woke up, strapped on her shoes and went to pound on the door of a house she's never visited so that I don't have to have a panic attack in Saudi Arabia. That is what people, with souls, and hearts, and human emotions do.
They don't say "Yeah I'm not really planning in heading in that direction" and then make jokes about your siblings or family.
Irene I will be forever grateful to you and your ability to read others. I thank you for all you do. And Iva, you are officially a BAMF.
rachelinriyadh replied to your post: Guys, do I make bacon and eggs, or spaghetti...
eggs!!!!!!!!!!
kaamii replied to your post: Guys, do I make bacon and eggs, or spaghetti...
spaghettiiiiiii!
I came to a compromise - I made carbonara, and I'll go get eggs at my favorite all day breakfast place for lunch. Because I can't eat things at their proper time.
Marathon. No really.
For those of you who know me you may be surprised to find out that I am currently training for a marathon. I will be running the Disney marathon on January 13th ( yep the day before my birthday) in Orlando Florida. I am getting all my training miles in on a treadmill, and hopefully on some desert runs here in Saudi. Please be prepared for posts complaining about running in the heat, fear of turned ankles, and sheer Disney running excitement. Taking names from overseas -Rachelinriyadh
Paris
I only have a moment to put this up, but hopefully a moment is all I need.
My first day in Paris I arrived later than planned, at 11am. I was picked up from the airport, taken to my BEAUTIFUL hotel, HOtel Elysees Bassano, and dropped off my copious luggage in my room. I discovered that all of paris has these goregeous full length windows, and threw mine open to find a movie set esque view of the neighborhood. WOW.
I tok a drive by of the Arc de Triumph, and didn't feel like I was really in Paris until I hopped out at the Eiffel tower. Whoa.
Paris on sunday was empty. No one was in he streets, and it added to the surreal nature of the day.
Went to a lovely restaurant for lunch where I reinvigorated with tuna tartare, but was dragging pretty bad. I avoid caffeine like the plague and at that point I had been awake for 23 hours.
We left lunch and went to a huge outdoor antique market just brimming with cool things. SO much china and small wooden cabinets and these little tiny barbell shaped things, that I never figured out the purpose of. We stopped for tea and gelato at a little cafe tucked in the antiques district. This place was unbelievable. People kept saying this was 'the real' Paris. If that is true the real Paris had Christmas decorations up in September, old faded portraits painted in school chalk on glass, and really strong black tea. I have a video I will post shortly of the live music being sung into a karaoke machine with accordion and preset keyboard backup. :-)
From there I went to the Champs Élysées, i think, and fixed my phone so it now works in France. Moments after leaving the store I was given tickets to Coldplay. Yep. Thats how I roll. It was a total surprise, and I was seconds from falling over from exhaustions, so I gave in an had a cookie and a large cafe au lait. I made it through the WHOLE FREAKING AMAZING CONCERT on my feet, singing along off key. There were glowing wristbands, huge beach balls, inflatable butterflies, and hours and hours of music. Yes they are better live.
I got separated from my group in the crush of people leaving the concert, but met back up before panic fully set in. and made it home in one piece. Fueled by caffeine I was up til 3am unpacking and settling.
Day 2. Lunch, walking puppies, slept by 7pm, woke up on day 3 around noon.
That is the bulletpoint version of the day. Photos, viideos, and details soon.
RachelinRiyadh
