"Bermuda is the right country for a jaded man to "loaf" in. There are no harassments; the deep peace and quiet of the country sink into one's body and bones and give his conscience a rest." Mark Twain from Some Rambling Notes of an Idle Excursion
Each time we mentioned to friends or family that we were traveling to Bermuda, they would inevitably get the island confused with its tropical cousins, the Bahamas or Barbados. Aside from the mysterious Bermuda triangle, most Americans know very little about this incredibly isolated island in the Atlantic.
Too often in our American society, we view being alone as something unfortunate or melancholic, a result of circumstance not of personal choice. But even for the most social butterfly, a regular bit of alone time affords some great little pleasures and an opportunity for introspection.
A testament to my introversion, one of my very favorite activities is going to the movies solo. So, about once a month, I choose a film and set out to enjoy my movie "me time." I adore browsing fandango to see what chick flicks or art films are playing at the local theater. I carefully check out the reviews and labor over my choice, not wanting to waste my two hours on a cinematic dud or downer.
Whether you live in Southern California like I do or in the Big Apple, locals often whine about the annoyance of tourists. They wander confusedly through the subway or clog up scenic routes with their rental cars. They look through the viewfinder of their cameras rather than looking at the pedestrians they're about to collide with. They eat at the overpriced, under-tasty joints advertised on billboards and brochures.
Well, darlings: I'm back! I've just returned from a lovely long getaway to New York City, followed by a trip to Bermuda. Rather than trying to condense my visit into one post, I am going to stretch out the highlights of my vacation.
With my mascarpone-cherry rice pudding at Rice to Riches
Because my family makes plans for lunch whilst eating breakfast and plans for breakfast whilst eating dinner, I shall start with the most important aspect of any vacation: food, glorious, food.
In Manhattan, attempting to choose a restaurant is like telling Carrie Bradshaw to choose only one pair of Manolos: a virtual impossibility. When the family and I were faced with this daunting task, we turned to New Yorker friends and guidebooks and Zagat searches.
I was determined to chart every breakfast, lunch, cupcake snack and dinner according to our itinerary for the day. But, as those of you who travel frequently know, wandering off course sometimes leads to the most delicious discoveries.
It takes a truly stunning exhibition to captivate me. Art history is my job. And as with all jobs, we often become calloused by our day-to-day activities, no matter how much we adore them. So on Saturday, I was unexpectedly spellbound by the Jean-Louis Gerôme exhibition at the Getty Center.
One of my favorite lazy weekend pastimes is reading The Wall Street Journal. You may not immediately think of the Journal as a source for aesthetic inspiration of gustatory delights, but inside its pages are often elegantly written articles on wine and travel and art.
Like Amélie Poulain, my life is all about the littlest pleasures: the freshest, pinkest raspberries; the deep blue of a Vermeer painting; the perfect crispness of a glass of Prosecco; the divine simplicity of an afternoon at the beach; the heavenly scent of a vanilla bean. Here I blog to celebrate the good life, la dolce vita, la belle vie. Cherish life's petits plaisirs and enrich your daily existence.
You should know that I take liberties with grammar, punctuation, & diction. Do not fear! I assure you I've been educated about the woes of abundant comma usage or the impropriety of ending a sentence with a preposition. Here, as this is not my dissertation, I write as I talk. I also make up words on occasion.
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