tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31655531394488230742024-03-05T10:14:33.252+00:00The Borboleta ... fluttering about... thoughts, learnings, and experiences.The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.comBlogger195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-4302762188335681922017-05-13T11:30:00.000+01:002017-05-13T11:30:47.485+01:00Not a feel good piece ... As I was writing this the song "What's Going On" by Marvin Gaye was streaming through my sub-consciousness. To get you in the mood, you as well can have this streaming in the background as you read my preach. <a href="http://www.last.fm/music/Marvin+Gaye/_/What's+Going+On">http://www.last.fm/music/Marvin+Gaye/_/What's+Going+On</a><br />
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This weekend while reading an article on a completely different topic, a startling statistic was cited that has been swirling in my brain; I decided to do a little research. I am a statistician at heart, geeked-out by looking up all these statistical research projects, though their projection is sombre.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What I initially read was this: a group of statisticians took basic sociological metrics for 17 Western countries around the world - suicide, teen pregnancy, STD and abortion rates, the proportion of people in jail, income gaps between rich and poor, alcohol and drug consumption - and computed a weighted metric on a scale of 1-10. The value was used to gauge the overall health of a country, with one being the most dysfunctional and 10 the least. Sweden came out the highest at 7.1, Japan came in a with a respectable 6, and the surprising bit is that of all the countries evaluated, the U.S. came in the lowest at 2.7.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I knew things weren't great, and I expected the US to come in low ... but last? Last. Just reading the words above that compiled the metric make me uncomfortable, let alone the fact that we have scary-high prevalence of them all. I think in part we beleive while living in the US, surrounded in our micro-cosm with little experience in other global societies that "that's just the way it is" ... young girls will get pregnant, boys will shoot each other and go to jail ... that's just life. Well friends, no it isn't ... that is life in the US.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I began Googling for global "health metrics", which yielded results around people's general physical health, article after article on studies conducted to determine the "top 10" healthiest countries ... NONE of which have the U.S.A. listed. An article on Reuters suggests "Americans spend twice as much as residents of other developed countries on healthcare, but get lower quality, less efficiency, and the least equitable system." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And we have all seen studies on the happiest countries. The US is always out-performed by the Scandinavian countries and the lands down under. In a recent study from Forbes, the US is 12th (slipping out of the top 10 vs. the prior year). Fortunately we are not last here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There are statistical evaluations by Yale University and the World Economic Forum that rate a country's Environmental Performance Index ... or how sensitive your policies are to environmental conditions. Of 132 world countries evaluated the US came in at 49. Ok, not last, but there are 48 other countries in the world that have more impressive stances on environmental policies ... countries like Slovakia, Albania, Columbia, Malaysia Slovenia ... for comparison, the U.K. ranked 9th. Can you even name 48 countries? Because that is how many beat us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, these are all statistical research studies subject to individual biases, methodology concerns, self-reporting issues, etc. but most are legit scientific journals and the overall theme is strong. On parameters of social trauma, physical health, happiness and environmental consciousness the U.S.A. ranks pretty darn bad. And I suspect if I took the time to look up the economic outlook, debt, education, etc. I could find some more negativity to load up on this dismal pile.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, it makes me question why the immigration rate to the US is still so high, with 4.6 people coming into the country for every one that leaves ... 1M people each year gain their legal residency status in the US, with the majority of immigration to the US continuing to be Mexico, China, and India. None of which ranked higher than the US in any of the studies I reviewed. Hmm. Let's jut say the immigration rate from Norway to the U.S. is not something we will need to concern ourselves with.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't know what my conclusion is here ... it is not a black or white issue. One could easily argue that lower social equality and happiness are simply the price you pay for being the land of the free, allowing those with less to enter in and be cared for. Maybe we are happy with that. But when standing from the outside looking in, that wonderful home that we fight for the right to keep has some pretty big bruises and scars that we as a society must pay attention to. Let's pray the immigration rate doesn't go down as more proof we've awoken from America's dream.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Be conscious, look around you, don't simply witness, reality shows are becoming our reality.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sources:</div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.bloomberg.com/slideshow/2012-08-13/world-s-healthiest-countries.html">http://www.bloomberg.com/slideshow/2012-08-13/world-s-healthiest-countries.html</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.reuters.com/article/2010/06/23/us-usa-healthcare-last-idUSTRE65M0SU20100623">http://www.reuters.com/article/2010/06/23/us-usa-healthcare-last-idUSTRE65M0SU20100623</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/christopherhelman/2013/01/09/the-worlds-happiest-and-saddest-countries-2/">http://www.forbes.com/sites/christopherhelman/2013/01/09/the-worlds-happiest-and-saddest-countries-2/</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Environmental_Performance_Index">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Environmental_Performance_Index</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-36363366562532356462016-05-04T21:17:00.000+01:002017-05-13T11:31:16.107+01:00So Observent<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There are times, while sitting observantly in a corner of a
crowded place, that I find the world just so weird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find that I can’t understand this social engagement
model we have set up - we expunge so much effort yearning to find “the one” to spend
our time with, yet likewise it seems as if we rarely feel as if we have finally
arrived where (or with who?) we are supposed to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Is it simply human nature in the modern age?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do we have the animal urge to procreate and nest
all while travel blogs, fortune 500 news feeds, and mommy mags selling us £1,000
prams have given us an impossible image of perfection to achieve?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do those native instincts - that partners
provide a higher probability of survival and love helps heal some of life’s
cruel realities - collide with the relentless options of capitalism and the
pressure of keeping our social-media-selves competing with the Jones’?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">For example, that couple over there … fit and hipster, a
respectable number of tattoos, rail thin, reasonably attractive together … yet
I am positively certain he is pissed off with that damn French bulldog she must
constantly have on her lap, snorting in his face right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is cursing the day he laid her down. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Silent, scanning the room, I am sure he has
already starting planning his exit strategy. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Or how about them over there … they seem comfortably in
domestic bliss (based on their slightly bulging waistlines and pasty skin), yet
I see his baby blue eyes have been staring off up into the sky as if he is
dreaming he is a big airline pilot soaring across the vast Pacific (“how did I
get here?”).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, he will stay for her,
because that is what life is about - loyalty, sacrifice, compromise, mediocracy.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And that couple … nearly robotic in their obviously repetitive
execution of the nightly meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fork,
mouth, smile lovingly, fork, mouth, fork, mouth, phone check, fork mouth, communicating
“shall we go to bed?” without words (actually I mean can I just go home and
look at my Facebook?). “#Loveyou.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Even the two handsome gay boys look quite uncomfortable in
the domestic sanctuary of the pub, poking intently at their smartphones, as if
they are praying no one they know (and super hot) sees them there wearing their corporate blue
work shirts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And in between these thoughts I of course think of myself …
what is wroooong with me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Am I so afraid
of relationship failure that I can’t see how truly perfect it is to have
someone to spend every minute with?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
I manifest these fantasies about how each of them truly wishes they were
somewhere else?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That I fear the monotony
of every day, nothing new to talk about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Or that I have yet to have very many examples in my life of couples who
truly have made this work?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How about the utter humiliation
that failure would cast upon me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have I
been brainwashed by love stories and song lyrics and foreign accents and pectorals and Conde
Nast myself??<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I pack up
my laptop to go home, forget this nonsense, focus on the positive, convince myself I am fine, I catch a glimpse
of those around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Poor girl.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She looks so lonely.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“ I can’t believe she comes out to eat alone.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Seems like a workaholic.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She’s probably psycho.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Aw, I hope she finds someone.”</span>The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-54274172550878651162015-01-10T20:10:00.000+00:002015-01-10T20:18:37.708+00:00La Crème de la Crème<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17ATkNWTIOKnIOkvJBWOP8otydwYRiHI2UGmSChW-lo0Lbdq2WsXSY13Z1f5Uh0_6MeQPxuug83wmpVRtmLLhcZ0q6FAKCB-D1oOa2nOdlYACYsrAztQlLDDYVuG3L4qXLNqsZP97NKV8/s1600/Argie+095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17ATkNWTIOKnIOkvJBWOP8otydwYRiHI2UGmSChW-lo0Lbdq2WsXSY13Z1f5Uh0_6MeQPxuug83wmpVRtmLLhcZ0q6FAKCB-D1oOa2nOdlYACYsrAztQlLDDYVuG3L4qXLNqsZP97NKV8/s1600/Argie+095.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Something as simple as the milk on the breakfast table has spun up many a deep t</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">hought on my travels. One morning on a recent trip to South America, a thin white plastic bag about the size you get rice in was laid in front of me on its side on the kitchen counter. "There's the coffee {powder in a jar} and here is the milk. Help yourself." I stared, surely crunched my eyebrows, and contemplated the challenge, "Ok, this is easy. I can do this."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"So what do I do with the bag once I open it?", considering that a flimsy bag once cut open would clearly flop all of its contents on to the floor unless held in your hand. Immediately I was presented </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">with a bag-shaped plastic container</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">, from a cupboard full of multiples of the same device, which held the bag up on end once the new corner was snipped. Same scene occurred with the yoghurt. Oh. Obviously.</span></span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">When I was in Brazil, I was dizzied by the sight that all their milk came in cardboard boxes and more so that it was all stored warm. Room temp. Long aisles in the grocery stores (not the refrigerated ones) have liquid milk on them, just as in the U.S. you would see boxes of crackers. Why it doesn't spoil is a topic I will let you research for yourself (same with eggs).</span></span></span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Other countries drink powdered milk. You have to scoop up a bit of milk in a teaspoon and stir with water before you get the product we are used to seeing from the source. And in yet other countries</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">, goat milk, which even the mention of make most Americans gag, is most common.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">When I was young, on a day-to-day basis my milk came from an oddly shaped plastic carton, most often in the gallon size and was icy cold and silky smooth under my sugary cereal or by the entire glass when that deep craving presented itself.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVup64dqPqgxXZujXRESJwYWA6EmFe9oRyzSY1kUbVoE-uk8ohdoCqQpVTplpURJVXpZlQspM2jzeukaXfwJRGxwELMhi-ydyWJXMudSE218IF6AvT9UDpgLTvtgEvdPi8kNXyoX7AgtU/s1600/milk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVup64dqPqgxXZujXRESJwYWA6EmFe9oRyzSY1kUbVoE-uk8ohdoCqQpVTplpURJVXpZlQspM2jzeukaXfwJRGxwELMhi-ydyWJXMudSE218IF6AvT9UDpgLTvtgEvdPi8kNXyoX7AgtU/s1600/milk.jpg" /></a></div>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">My grandparents had a dairy farm and on our visits we would sit around the kitchen table, often covered with a plastic table cloth. My grandmother would pour us a glass of cold milk from the "icebox", and it always had chunks of thick cream floating on top of it. At first sight of the thick glass </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">container</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">, not odd-shaped plastic, coming from the fridge I would immediately regret the request, forgetting how close to the cow I actually was sitting. Chunks - they always spawn up thoughts of that random spoiled carton we could find in our fridge at home, but upon sampling it was so creamy sweet I would drink i</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">t down.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">It's interesting how visceral the thought of milk is, and how strong your reaction is when it is served up in a format different from that you had day-in and day-out in your youth. In my contemplations on this topic on this day I thought about how what we grow up with is such a strong driver in our preferences and our vision for our best future. It is one of the strongest influences on the decisions we make. One one hand it is probably a safe survival instinct, but in the end if we are open to trying something outside that comfort zone, seeming foreign at first, we can be pleasantly surprised that there are a multitude of means that end in the joy of milk and by doing so we learn something about our fellow society and our pursuit of la crème de la crème.</span></span></span>The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-66429240280059404212014-03-25T20:40:00.001+00:002014-03-25T20:40:31.426+00:00The Gastronomic Capital of Europe ... Lyon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQANpCQ45GX3zt76la35-YbG2M9b9bjH7GY-vXK8ylKumLJnPHT7ialZgAKX7FM6999nLlFfCi4PoFRYldkKfDSzUYhLom4_tkrQssKsxbkjj9X2y_2ItYel_KnPa-nJc6qIuU5SS6nY11/s1600/Lyon+264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQANpCQ45GX3zt76la35-YbG2M9b9bjH7GY-vXK8ylKumLJnPHT7ialZgAKX7FM6999nLlFfCi4PoFRYldkKfDSzUYhLom4_tkrQssKsxbkjj9X2y_2ItYel_KnPa-nJc6qIuU5SS6nY11/s1600/Lyon+264.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
And some would say the world. I mean, when I read that for the first time, I knew I had to visit this place, and soon. It's hard to envision what a place holding this title could possible be like, the treasures it must hold - the rare, the unexpected, the glutiny, the kitchen gadgets, pork, cheese, buttery croissants, buttery bread, butter ... breeeeeeeathe, breathe.<br />
<br />
OK, so coming back down to Earth, I did see a glimpse of why Lyon may get such accolades, but in a vote I probably wouldn't pick Lyon. Gasp! {What did she say?} To be fair I didn't have a reservation for any of the top <i>bouchons</i> in town, and I am sure they would have been amazing, but eating every last bit of a pig or pressing bits of fish with gelatin into terrines is not so much my thing.<br />
<br />
So here's how it goes ... I arrived a bit on the exhausted side at my hotel in town via taxi (after dropping off the car at the airport from the Burgundy trip). The room was adorbs (because one should always pick charming, small boutique hotels) with a window over looking a large square in town. Lyon is big, so there were long pedestrianized shopping "High Streets" with H&M, Zara, and even a Subway. Bah.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6ypeNtldcbxICKR1xgVXgwqV-32SuxtAqXEmrLsN8yCcpAMitvFr6QcKyU0qC_u9wqpayVIfTH318MqO5kyy11ImkRchyphenhyphenJaZ98K4ab9XdN9Qo_5KhjZXvM1G9a2EVsglK3cS4YUTcR-M/s1600/Lyon+178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6ypeNtldcbxICKR1xgVXgwqV-32SuxtAqXEmrLsN8yCcpAMitvFr6QcKyU0qC_u9wqpayVIfTH318MqO5kyy11ImkRchyphenhyphenJaZ98K4ab9XdN9Qo_5KhjZXvM1G9a2EVsglK3cS4YUTcR-M/s1600/Lyon+178.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a>I wandered a bit in disbelief that I wasn't being engulfed by adorable little comestible shops, with little old French men in berets offering me a taste of their bounty. Not so much. I did finally find, after peering down a slim alley, the type of wine bar I envisioned. Had a glass of wine and started scanning the web for places to eat.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CwHKmLGCAhE_CLECx-0R8A-2FKCPOXcGgCpHNxTMEYH5I50F9DRuKUlQpf4PlvfC0MbX5S43iqgyART8LGg5aLyW8Jt5qGx-D9Rqb4ZZKnhpKnHOg5VvHQXs5Phgvexqppiewx6yt1uF/s1600/Lyon+188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CwHKmLGCAhE_CLECx-0R8A-2FKCPOXcGgCpHNxTMEYH5I50F9DRuKUlQpf4PlvfC0MbX5S43iqgyART8LGg5aLyW8Jt5qGx-D9Rqb4ZZKnhpKnHOg5VvHQXs5Phgvexqppiewx6yt1uF/s1600/Lyon+188.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lyonnaise Salad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There was a place near my hotel that came highly rated and served <i>Bresse </i>chicken. A colleague of mine is from Burgundy, and he had mentioned to me this very specific breed of French chicken with blue feet that are esteemed, highly sought after, etc. So, I had that, after a Lyonnaise salad (you know, the one with frisse lettuce, bacon lardon, Dijon dressing, and a poached egg). All good. Oh, and I was in Cote du Rhone territory now, so that was the beverage <i>du jour</i>.<br />
<br />
The whole point of the trip was to see the famed <i>Les Halles de Lyon</i>, their modern indoor food market. In fact more modern than I expected. This is highly unlike the Borough Market in London or La Boqueria in Barcelona. However, I was giddy as I ran up the steps, and nearly leapt in the air to click my heels as I walked in. Hallelujah! Amen!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRPIZFD0sBePZewhDdVqnaLLOESsjMYhAbAZrGVfJwG40L6nMK8O2x28lacz1us_p4sZwPP7oT7WyNkm0vN7u3QGqCK3Qle6amv7x_4ILpwDHiiCNLOXGmoAOBKbcqMJ5c65YTrWcY6I7h/s1600/Lyon+223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRPIZFD0sBePZewhDdVqnaLLOESsjMYhAbAZrGVfJwG40L6nMK8O2x28lacz1us_p4sZwPP7oT7WyNkm0vN7u3QGqCK3Qle6amv7x_4ILpwDHiiCNLOXGmoAOBKbcqMJ5c65YTrWcY6I7h/s1600/Lyon+223.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQRtu4opns6W-F32AeEza4fYDC8qfUc1R0bASZ5GCOsNwY1R3rnQm4MQrQ_mIochyphenhyphen2oejizVY6hnHgeYOW6L947NNDwUZUuXTwVxf3-xIDIrlJ3xu0ZQsLZidFsXJ-5bM_1C2guGaots_/s1600/Lyon+200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQRtu4opns6W-F32AeEza4fYDC8qfUc1R0bASZ5GCOsNwY1R3rnQm4MQrQ_mIochyphenhyphen2oejizVY6hnHgeYOW6L947NNDwUZUuXTwVxf3-xIDIrlJ3xu0ZQsLZidFsXJ-5bM_1C2guGaots_/s1600/Lyon+200.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a>This was the morning to top all mornings ... as I browsed slowly from side-to-side up and down each aisle, yes, arguably the best food products in the world were here. To my surprise, I was literally stopped in my tracks as I saw a man cutting open fresh sea urchins one after another and arranging them on a serving platter. I had just read an article about a man who flew to Japan regularly just to find these. After about 15 minutes in awe, I decided what the heck and ordered just one (and a side of Champagne). What can I say, it was delicious ... the little buttery wedges scraped from the shell were simple with just the hint of the sea.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyhMeHJ9Q6z_GIUoEUsqzVjetyseUnJNe7qA23dcGc8y_evnjEvfwKRL8wLLiGdcvXe6ZFL5EX6XLTrbDe1d-EqmaZEmidnW48L48qOvaapXSP-YAs9DHwrRjsTcjEO-0dQQ56XvXDfIC/s1600/Lyon+206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyhMeHJ9Q6z_GIUoEUsqzVjetyseUnJNe7qA23dcGc8y_evnjEvfwKRL8wLLiGdcvXe6ZFL5EX6XLTrbDe1d-EqmaZEmidnW48L48qOvaapXSP-YAs9DHwrRjsTcjEO-0dQQ56XvXDfIC/s1600/Lyon+206.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a>So, feeling extra adventurous, I decided I would tackle the escargot. In case you didn't know this about me, I have a sunken garden in damp England and in the Summer snails come in droves to devour my precious plants - I have gone militant on them and putting one in my mouth wasn't high on my list. However, in the name of trying all things once and having an opinion on exemplary foods from the world, I decided to set in to a full dozen of Burgundy escargot. They first brought out quite a set of complex utensils, and then a plate of sizzling butter, parsley, and garlic. I dug them out one-by-one and ate the whole plate, more or less non-stop. I may not need to do that often, but it was enjoyable.<br />
<br />
After that feast, I grabbed a local praline tart and grabbed the trolley car up to the north side of the city, Croix-Russe. It is a hill with sweeping views of the city, and well, not much going on, so I walked through the winding streets, back into town ... fortunately to find the old city centre. This is the historic section of town, and had much more of the locales I was expecting to see. Cute cafes, cobblestone streets, ancient passageways, etc. Did some shopping and by the point of exhaustion started to hunt out the grand finale dinner location.<br />
<br />
I was ready to splurge ... so I found some highly rated places ... first one, fully booked. Second one, fully booked. Third one, fully booked ... Fourth one, you guessed it! Boo! OK, so I ended up at a spot that served only local ingredients and the chef's own creations, and it was splendid! To be honest, I was so over meat by this point I ordered a crawfish ravioli! Ha, ha ...<br />
<br />
Up early the next morning to catch the Sunday morning market along the Soane river. So, so pleasant ... browsing morning food markets is my favourite thing to do. Anyway, the produce was bountiful, the stinky cheeses sprawling, the chicken spinning on the rotisseries, and the little old ladies were scrutinizing their selections. I picked up a couple few local items to snack on then and a few to bring home. Home ... time to go, and time to fast for a while!<br />
<br />
<i>I'm afraid Flickr may have gotten more technologically advanced than I, so for now I am pasting in the link to the photo album! </i><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26634587@N07/sets/72157642916723044/" target="_blank"> Click Here.</a><br />
<br />
<br />The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-42720786207752535592014-03-24T23:23:00.000+00:002014-03-24T23:23:49.600+00:00Seduced via the Stomach: Burgundy!<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5SRljiocrs1p9lcX_TxZrZjrC5wgLGe1ru86otNJU8EB9ZgTtWdqEAW0_4dLtT9DMbaCGA08t28cMMYs_nU5ZCMKCevWMQosIPanKrloC23MhBG1N9ibgYitixyOOMFxMgJhPdSj1bkan/s1600/Lyon+064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5SRljiocrs1p9lcX_TxZrZjrC5wgLGe1ru86otNJU8EB9ZgTtWdqEAW0_4dLtT9DMbaCGA08t28cMMYs_nU5ZCMKCevWMQosIPanKrloC23MhBG1N9ibgYitixyOOMFxMgJhPdSj1bkan/s1600/Lyon+064.JPG" height="186" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being the oenophile I am, I still get quite uncomfortable when
presented with a wine list comprised mostly of French wines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arguably the best in the world (I would
contest that Italy actually reigns supreme), if I am to truly dominate my hobby
I needed to tackle this challenging region.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thus, in 2014 I set out to visit a couple of the most infamous regions
to improve my vocabulary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First stop Burgundy!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Burgundy is a large region Southeast of Paris … it starts to
the north in Chablis and continues south across draping slopes that create some of
the most expensive wines in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is largely white wine territory, and the smoky Chardonnays are not
my taste.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reds are nearly all Pinot
Noir, which tend to be quite light in colour and flavour … this place had its
work cut out for it!</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I picked up the car from the Orly airport outside Paris and
hit the highway to Chablis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From that
point forward it was nothing but winding country roads through farmland and
small stone villages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>March is still off
season for this area that attracts tourists in droves from May through
September, and so for the most part I had the road (and the towns!) all to
myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4K76ke6zy5AfcpjZRZ73oFPTM2U8g1i2q2Hy648a09BsJjaZqgyYh2_PcomWe_M6DMImDKjbuWMiEVnoILI96omtovGiqUcmtxDDgaR8794X5M3CLrtG3VWlbKRkjIgQf8sJ4hBnilG4L/s1600/Lyon+043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4K76ke6zy5AfcpjZRZ73oFPTM2U8g1i2q2Hy648a09BsJjaZqgyYh2_PcomWe_M6DMImDKjbuWMiEVnoILI96omtovGiqUcmtxDDgaR8794X5M3CLrtG3VWlbKRkjIgQf8sJ4hBnilG4L/s1600/Lyon+043.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jambon <span lang="EN" style="color: #404040; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">à la </span>Chablisienne</span></em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Burgundy is also known as a foodie paradise, and this trip
was as much about gastronomy as wine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, first stop was lunch for the local ham in Chablis wine sauce “<em>Jambon <span lang="EN" style="color: #404040; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">à
la </span>Chablisienne</em>”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking back it
was the best meal of the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
creamy sauce drenching the juicy ham, sided by perfectly cooked potatoes and a
glass of the local Chablis, was divine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Picked up one souvenir bottle of Chablis <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– not as smoky as the white Burgundys and it’s
my second fave just after Sauvignon Blanc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">From there I toured through the fields that yield the
region’s Premier Crus … no leaves yet on the vines, so the views were sweeping
dry land interwoven with the emerald green fields of rapeseed just starting to
sprout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should have expected it, but
was somewhat surprised how agricultural the region was … this is not your
snooty, loafer-wearing wine crowd one would envision of the region, but down and
dirty tracker driving locals and very rural.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were numerous tractors in the field tending to their precious
crops, just sprouting their Spring growth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0oDDcDkAUSw5FK7Bhne25fV90rbvQUKhHFG5RQAGF5fOwcaNMmGgTZGO4eHFCZNPt-XSHWVumJUjweX-27ZzZoMrrxoNUx7R1_rN9AEwuuqjrlfuMitJ4qJr6wakXR0FhPRLlF7BTEYu/s1600/Lyon+090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0oDDcDkAUSw5FK7Bhne25fV90rbvQUKhHFG5RQAGF5fOwcaNMmGgTZGO4eHFCZNPt-XSHWVumJUjweX-27ZzZoMrrxoNUx7R1_rN9AEwuuqjrlfuMitJ4qJr6wakXR0FhPRLlF7BTEYu/s1600/Lyon+090.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Boeuf de</em> <em>Charolais</em> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After an amazing sunset closed the warm day, I spent my
first night in Beaune - the capitol of Burgundy country and the first place with a little bit of activity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here for
dinner, while planning the next day's route, I tried a steak of the local
<em>Charolais</em> beef (In April 2010 <em>Boeuf de</em> <em>Charolles</em> was granted an <em>Appellation Contrôlée</em>)
along with the most amazing creamy buttery cheese sauce ever experienced. The
fuzzy peach-coloured cows are so cute along the road (though I think they are a
bit shy for the camera, and the guy on the left was downright annoyed). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I splurged on a
bottle of Pommard Premier Cru … and ate real slow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The wine was delicious and from that point forward I shall always look
for a Pommard on those menus that scared me a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Early to bed, and in the morning I browsed the <em>Patisseries</em>
(desserts), <em>Fromageries</em> (cheese), <em>Boulangeries</em> (bread), and <em>Boucheries</em> (meat)
in this foodie town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I picked up a
little from each place for a little picnic later in the day, as well as a
exemplary bottle of Cote d’Nuits Premier Cru as a souvenir bottle for the
collection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of <span style="color: black;">course this wasn’t your average
snack!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the butcher I braved the
language gap to order a slice of the <em>Jambon P</em><strong><span lang="EN" style="color: #404040; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><em>ersillé</em>,
which is a terrine of ham and parsley (I hope) and some local</span></strong><strong><span lang="EN" style="color: #404040; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></strong><em>Epoisses</em> cheese (semi-stink) – both exemplary
of foods only found in the region of <em>Borgogne</em>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaMrPKJsgd50n-wcHQ9t0dcFoKLAR_oU2IJnDdSiDQnsDx2lfLZiQMLPvU24Wd1QYJuolNr9qZknWEcSm2p5GybOiRM0I5sSKU4S7HSRQFCj9u5K9tpkkPIYTQoaEOcXekhuhWeqGrju7W/s1600/Lyon+146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaMrPKJsgd50n-wcHQ9t0dcFoKLAR_oU2IJnDdSiDQnsDx2lfLZiQMLPvU24Wd1QYJuolNr9qZknWEcSm2p5GybOiRM0I5sSKU4S7HSRQFCj9u5K9tpkkPIYTQoaEOcXekhuhWeqGrju7W/s1600/Lyon+146.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Jambon P</em><strong><span lang="EN" style="color: #404040; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><em>ersillé </em>and </span></strong><em>Epoisses</em> cheese </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The roads south of Beaune proved quiet as well … Google
Maps just happens to be amazing, so I found myself travelling on gravel paths
through the fields of grapes, topping sweeping views of the region (I thought
maybe I was trespassing at some points!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I found myself at an old chateau hanging off cliffs to crack open that
snack I got in town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t
disappoint!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To be honest, nearly all the “caves” were closed (where one
would taste the local wine) and that was disappointing, but I tried to not let
it get to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drive was beautiful,
the food yummy, and it felt as if I had gone back in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a last stop in<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b><strong><span lang="EN" style="color: #404040; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Pouilly</span></strong><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #404040; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">-</span></b><strong><span lang="EN" style="color: #404040; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Fuissé</span></strong></span><strong><span lang="EN" style="color: #404040; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></strong><span style="font-family: Calibri;">just to say I had been there, I hit the highway to Lyon with a lot more wine knowledge in my head and a full tummy … </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
{<a href="http://theborboleta.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/seduced-via-stomach-burgundy.html" target="_blank">SLIDESHOW</a>}</div>
<br />
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157642872195055%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F13391054354%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157642872195055%2Fwith%2F13391054354%2F&set_id=72157642872195055&jump_to=13391054354"></param>
<param name="movie" value="https://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=140556"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="https://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=140556" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157642872195055%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F13391054354%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157642872195055%2Fwith%2F13391054354%2F&set_id=72157642872195055&jump_to=13391054354" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-12884938717451813172014-01-19T14:14:00.002+00:002014-01-19T14:16:28.322+00:00Ski Trip Andorrrrrrra!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://news.bbcimg.co.uk/media/images/59099000/gif/_59099371_andorra_map.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Map of Andorra" border="0" src="http://news.bbcimg.co.uk/media/images/59099000/gif/_59099371_andorra_map.gif" height="171" width="304" /></a></div>
I had been yearning for one of those moments when you sit peacefully as the snow flakes fall, gazing over the mountains in the distance, with warmth and a loved one nearby. As destiny would have it, my loved one has friends with a home near Andorra whom kindly invited us for a weekend to go skiing between Christmas and New Year's Eve. Yeah!<br />
<br />
In case you don't know (I didn't), Andorra is a small country between Spain and France high in the Pyrenees mountains (marking the 20th country I have visited). It is about a two and a half hour drive from Barcelona, where we began and ended this getaway. After the flight in, we grabbed our little van and some friends and began the trek North. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIlfzSm5WryfzGdIkm8RS7cgMhfSb33LAT9zfmQv7yzy9oGcyEKvEnXRgQuVTixKJ2T6w2eMVA5obekeewmV3kR34qJcRgotEDXLvgf1zNlF5XqDhj6GVaH0ch_IaSeC22ccsIp0Vp_VA9/s1600/andorra+099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIlfzSm5WryfzGdIkm8RS7cgMhfSb33LAT9zfmQv7yzy9oGcyEKvEnXRgQuVTixKJ2T6w2eMVA5obekeewmV3kR34qJcRgotEDXLvgf1zNlF5XqDhj6GVaH0ch_IaSeC22ccsIp0Vp_VA9/s1600/andorra+099.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a>I haven't skied much in my life. I've gone on a couple trips in Wisconsin, but that is a bit like saying you have experience in Formula One racing by riding go karts once. Nonetheless, I was game (especially since this got me the serene moments I longed for ... albeit in between bouts of life-threatening panic and aching body parts).<br />
<br />
We rose early in the morning to drive to the resort high, high up in the mountains, crossing the border into Andorra. The first day was bright with blue, blue skies and warm temperatures. Glorious! The first run I attempted was way out of my league and I spent more time on my bum or "snowplowing" as slowly as possible to get me to the bottom. Ugh. Considered giving up.<br />
<br />
After examining the map and identifying some blue hills to try, I was back in action and built my confidence over the course of the two days on the mountain. I slowly identified what I was doing wrong, made some attempts at slopes that had leg-breaking potential, and ultimately felt like I made great progress. As I took my breaks on the long runs gradually down the hill, the sights were breath-taking, and thanks to a nice gift from Nielsen we had a video camera to capture some of the action.<br />
<div class="caption body-narrow-width">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqNBUth96BhMZJWcXaR15Qi5eD18kYL8AjIMQaoyCd_-GHZgfL1VMrpVKwt4IoqyExWnQyOWu0ucVcus-Qih-vQoRXb5mj9dfMDIiepFAdV0-dN56AJZhe8XeWFqeOpODprYyL3vyQf2_/s1600/andorra+104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqNBUth96BhMZJWcXaR15Qi5eD18kYL8AjIMQaoyCd_-GHZgfL1VMrpVKwt4IoqyExWnQyOWu0ucVcus-Qih-vQoRXb5mj9dfMDIiepFAdV0-dN56AJZhe8XeWFqeOpODprYyL3vyQf2_/s1600/andorra+104.JPG" height="191" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="caption body-narrow-width">
Of course you are exhausted after skiing all day, so we spent quiet evenings in the nearby small communities. Of particular excitement, we went for a late dinner at a nearby farmhouse that sourced most of their food from their property. There was warm chicken soup, Spanish cured meats and chesses, the customary pan con tomate, and I had roasted chicken to die for. So good ... now get me out of these ski clothes and to bed!</div>
<div class="caption body-narrow-width">
</div>
<div class="caption body-narrow-width">
On day four, we had breakfast overlooking the mountains, drove back along the cliffs and rolling hills to Barcelona, and spent one more night outside the city in front of a warm fire in the fireplace after a wander around the small town of El Vendrell. The ocean side drive to the airport was icing on the cake. Sooo good. What an end to 2013!</div>
<div class="caption body-narrow-width">
</div>
<div class="caption body-narrow-width">
<a href="http://theborboleta.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/ski-trip-andorrrrrrra.html" target="_blank">SLIDESHOW!</a></div>
<br />
<div class="caption body-narrow-width">
</div>
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157639922720216%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F12029958084%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157639922720216%2Fwith%2F12029958084%2F&set_id=72157639922720216&jump_to=12029958084"></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=138195"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=138195" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157639922720216%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F12029958084%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157639922720216%2Fwith%2F12029958084%2F&set_id=72157639922720216&jump_to=12029958084" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-52672819252672707172014-01-19T13:07:00.001+00:002014-01-19T13:12:58.655+00:00Christkindlmarkt, Vienna Unfortunately I wasn't able to get this posted in 2013, as I only had 12 blog posts throughout the entire year and hadn't posted anything since July, and this would have boosted my total. I am back at blogging again and hope to keep up documenting my travels and thoughts in 2014.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbftWYzbnWBJ0omhiqXHM1tV1CFRsHzdH_RmwjtG9fXlQzNwSb4OHKOhvMZ30I2DLzSpwsXJSWwJV1NLb3gEL2qgoZaFr-Vaqwxq6CFyyuh4nBJLWJGXmsIiIhVio1kV5Bj8gtpOYEU4Ko/s1600/Dec1+065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbftWYzbnWBJ0omhiqXHM1tV1CFRsHzdH_RmwjtG9fXlQzNwSb4OHKOhvMZ30I2DLzSpwsXJSWwJV1NLb3gEL2qgoZaFr-Vaqwxq6CFyyuh4nBJLWJGXmsIiIhVio1kV5Bj8gtpOYEU4Ko/s1600/Dec1+065.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rathausplatz ... the main market</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It is true that my personal travel slowed to a halt for the second half of last year, partially because business travel was constant and partially because a particular someone has made me want to be home in London more often. I kept up with what wonderful food I cooked, shopped for, and ate in real time on Facebook and Instagram.<br />
<br />
I had a gloriously long, calm year end break. Christmas in the middle of the week actually works out quite well, giving you two weeks off for the holidays. Having celebrated in the US a bit early this year, I had some time on my own to revel in the Christmas spirit in Europe.<br />
<br />
One afternoon while searching for the best Christmas markets in England, I kept coming across sites ranking those in Europe - the pictures of Vienna are simply magical, often ranked as the #1 destination. Since I've moved to this side of the pond Vienna has been my dream Christmas market trip, and well I ended up Googling tickets and booked impromptu for that weekend. Why not!?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHdFqkUH0bc1y9jYjghiEv_RpQwIRhQQNoAE-nLs6urDrgcgTL9kXRDHWgzjgLisEH4ylMpjlq4JY5mqvOb_O6KHj90mInl_4j1KwCT-Bcpb0dqt-I01oz38Qw7xkn2C4njTgue87KVNZ/s1600/Dec1+072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHdFqkUH0bc1y9jYjghiEv_RpQwIRhQQNoAE-nLs6urDrgcgTL9kXRDHWgzjgLisEH4ylMpjlq4JY5mqvOb_O6KHj90mInl_4j1KwCT-Bcpb0dqt-I01oz38Qw7xkn2C4njTgue87KVNZ/s1600/Dec1+072.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Have to have some mulled wine!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I flew in the Sunday afternoon before Christmas and left Monday evening - 24 hours to cover as much of Vienna as possible! Cute little chalets all lined up inside the city's squares selling glittering bobbles, intricately decorated gingerbread cookies, jewelry, and beeswax candles. Smiling, smiling, smiling in the crisp air.<br />
<br />
And of course the <em>fooooood</em> ... Austria is known for their local versions of "speck" ham and tangy, melt-worthy cheeses. The pretzels were bigger than your head and laced with any sweet or savoury one could desire. I popped warm roasted chestnuts in my mouth as I cheerfully walked up and down the lanes. After resting the feet and back with a chilled glass of local Riesling, I relaxed in one of the best wiener schnitzel houses in Vienna for dinner (it is the national dish!). With a side of warm potato salad you can't go wrong!<br />
<br />
Early to bed, and early to rise to spend a full day first visiting the glorious food market a few metro stops away (feeling proud conquering yet another city's public transport system!) followed by more Christmas-y goodness. LOVED this market (currently ranked #3 after Barcelona and London on Sarah's list). Frazzled shoppers queued for fresh fish, cheese, and produce in anticipation of making Christmas dinner. It was the day before Christmas Eve and the energy was invigorating ... no matter where you live, the holidays bring a shopping frenzy!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaAVRrfVECW6cB6jUfc0k-c0SMECW7TfNDnZ0LS7dP7kiPB5ksoEGDRpKk6483ODafWUBBXXEwIeO-2GVQFjWQM8-fAYUiDtJePoDAbuLZkYwj_p03MoTSPqdkFMocKazORrq4o_OQ5nxu/s1600/Dec1+174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaAVRrfVECW6cB6jUfc0k-c0SMECW7TfNDnZ0LS7dP7kiPB5ksoEGDRpKk6483ODafWUBBXXEwIeO-2GVQFjWQM8-fAYUiDtJePoDAbuLZkYwj_p03MoTSPqdkFMocKazORrq4o_OQ5nxu/s1600/Dec1+174.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
Visiting some of the local wine shops it dawned on me that <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=riedel+glass&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=NsnbUomLDqfD7Aag54HAAg&ved=0CAcQ_AUoAQ&biw=1280&bih=876" target="_blank">Riedel glass is Austrian</a> (that is a link to some pics). They are some of the best wine glasses on the market, and have price tags to go along with the reputation. However, being here in Austria (and with holiday sales!) they were less than half the price they are in London and I just couldn't contain myself! Six large, beautiful, bulbous red wine vessels were in my shopping bags before I knew it! Wait ... how am I going to get these on the plane? Ahh, where there is a will there is a way. Made it home. What a splendid trip. <a href="http://theborboleta.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/christkindlmarkt-vienna.html" target="_blank">SLIDESHOW!</a><br />
<br />
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157639742767103%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F11935036834%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157639742767103%2Fwith%2F11935036834%2F&set_id=72157639742767103&jump_to=11935036834"></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=138195"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=138195" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157639742767103%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F11935036834%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157639742767103%2Fwith%2F11935036834%2F&set_id=72157639742767103&jump_to=11935036834" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>
The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-77204962544251266582013-07-30T14:26:00.000+01:002013-07-30T14:26:21.314+01:00Lessons in Love ... Trondheim, NorwayUs girls have come to form a pretty tight tribe. Strong, successful, independent ladies, our meetings have a bit of Sex in the City vibe about them ... a secret society of alpha females whom spend their time sipping wine, talking about boys and the challenges of being female in the board room.<br />
<br />
Over the course of the last year or so one of our members fell in love with a Scandi, got engaged, quit her job, moved to Norway, and is now expecting. Whoa - talk about grounds for numerous tribal conventions. This weekend was their wedding!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-r7aN5LPqq1qVKbi9NggmAWj5nXs_0umbUJW6ENG4TWzUayUEVwhRIg5lHOVCASMnQQFpBdpc9T6JKD9bB_1I6NV1tPJuxVkq-RlWWchClLsn8SllJTSmwMSNlpZTmRtqvlQ0yCzfICkC/s1600/trondheim.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-r7aN5LPqq1qVKbi9NggmAWj5nXs_0umbUJW6ENG4TWzUayUEVwhRIg5lHOVCASMnQQFpBdpc9T6JKD9bB_1I6NV1tPJuxVkq-RlWWchClLsn8SllJTSmwMSNlpZTmRtqvlQ0yCzfICkC/s320/trondheim.png" width="320" /></a>So, we packed our bags and jetted off to Trondheim, Norway, a little fishing village about half way up the country of Norway, for the ceremony. Not many people live there (or anywhere nearby), yet with 100K+ inhabitants it is the third largest city in Norway and the childhood home to the man of at least one girl's dreams. Glad we went when it was green, warm, and the sun never set, because I could envision the frozen tundra this land must be most of the year. Brrrr.<br />
<br />
I was really looking forward to this for many reasons ... a new adventure, fresh air, a country I had not been to yet, time away with a large group of friends, and of course sharing in the wedding of a great friend and witnessing the traditions of another culture.<br />
<br />
After a late flight in, I woke up early Saturday morning to cover as much pavement as possible before the ceremony - stopping at the fish market on the docks to pick up some smoked salmon, salted cod and a fish cake snack; cruising the streets to see the cathedral and the old bridge in front of one of the oldest rows of traditional wooden housing in Norway.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFjp9ciuQiM0-uSys-uvkZMcizrBmNOKZBohkRKMeW8RhY5QWmmrJ9pDGdWYkWxbLftDS1ZiY-q3N7IJluxqwwajS2hXF4un6KBTurw2mVYz9VRcJuqVVuR29vhAPfAbtAIdIB0jQ_sRO/s1600/July+045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFjp9ciuQiM0-uSys-uvkZMcizrBmNOKZBohkRKMeW8RhY5QWmmrJ9pDGdWYkWxbLftDS1ZiY-q3N7IJluxqwwajS2hXF4un6KBTurw2mVYz9VRcJuqVVuR29vhAPfAbtAIdIB0jQ_sRO/s320/July+045.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Quick stop to purty up and we were on our way to the church for the short, sweet ceremony followed by a ride in a vintage tram to the top of one of the hills overlooking the town below. So fun!<br />
<br />
The reception ceremony was a delightful surprise (to be fair, I had been warned many times that the monotonous talking in Norwegian would go on for torturous hours and was threatened booze may not be served). <br />
<br />
Norwegian tradition dictates that throughout a several course dinner, guests of the wedding give speeches, deliver poems, sing songs, etc. - appetizer, father-of-the bride, groom, meat course, bride, father-of-the-groom, sisters, cheese plate, best man, friends, wedding cake, two songs sung by first the aunts/uncles then the group of cousins, more sweets. I loved it! The five hours flew by. Their love and support for each other was, in short, inspiring (and I don't think it was just the four course wine paring that had me all sentimental).<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgUimG2yNMv7w7FG6D5T500o6w1wgX9X4Yo_G0YWvwJ1kqvTwIISQC4SLT_yc2aX1YI0nHjFCVai64HMflky6Y5yNb9Wn_URE2eqRJIC430ZQVO-Fehu3RWgGR3OnNnRZg0SvAeD2IpuV/s1600/July+140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgUimG2yNMv7w7FG6D5T500o6w1wgX9X4Yo_G0YWvwJ1kqvTwIISQC4SLT_yc2aX1YI0nHjFCVai64HMflky6Y5yNb9Wn_URE2eqRJIC430ZQVO-Fehu3RWgGR3OnNnRZg0SvAeD2IpuV/s320/July+140.JPG" width="320" /></a>Could it be possible I forgot love like this exists? There wasn't a dry eye in the house as the father of the bride confessed to wishing he spent more time with his daughter and the darling groom fought back tears as he told his bride why he would love her forever and thanked his parents for supporting his decisions. As I witnessed the whole event, collectively, from the traditional wool dress of the women, the guitars they brought to play their handwritten music, their sensitivity to speaking English, the sheep grazing the peaceful hills outside, to the simple topics they expressed joy for (tractors, skiing, math) it all fell into place.<br />
<br />
The complexity we sometimes bring into our lives can be over-rated and needs to be kept in perspective. That night in that room allowed me to witness and once again believe in love ... simple, real love. It's out there. You just need to set your expectations, be patient and open to all possibilities. Having the support of some wonderful ladies to lift your spirits along the way doesn't hurt either!<br />
<br />
Oh, and I will skip the details about doing the Electric Slide and the Macarena until the wee hours of the morning. It didn't happen.<br />
<br />
<< SLIDESHOW!! >><br />
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634844951551%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F9393542261%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634844951551%2Fwith%2F9393542261%2F&set_id=72157634844951551&jump_to=9393542261"></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634844951551%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F9393542261%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634844951551%2Fwith%2F9393542261%2F&set_id=72157634844951551&jump_to=9393542261" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-25776379749214469572013-07-19T12:21:00.000+01:002013-07-19T12:21:41.887+01:00Brazil ... Morocco ... London to Ibiza ...OK, well, maybe just the second half ... this blog we are going to start with a little music motivation to set the tone.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/t4H_Zoh7G5A" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
Let's just say that as I embarked on my trip from London to Ibiza, I had faint fantasies of being J-Lo in this video where at the age of 43, she owns the club, looking amazing in a glitter body suit, shaking her boo-tay. Well, my trip wasn't quite like this, but not far off.
<br />
<br />
For those who don't know, Ibiza is known world wide as the clubbing capital and home to Electro House music. There are numerous enormous warehouse size clubs that pack in youngsters from around the globe throughout July and August. World class DJs like David Guetta (whom we missed), Calvin Harris (saw Thursday), and Avicii (Sunday) rock weekly shows. The night doesn't get started until after midnight, and anyone seen on the street before 10AM clearly hasn't gone to bed yet.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjurD0_DRaib-1b8h4Ik33aTvyUOh7nIB_sgWF8DzdLamEcurX0BYQbJI3iX2weJKH_7LlQ-46tREEe0ESuI9eRpGNoKjYjEa6uTuypb5j9AHnzyzPiGRhIygZaSQT_ZK7RDw7g11vZbYDb/s1600/210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjurD0_DRaib-1b8h4Ik33aTvyUOh7nIB_sgWF8DzdLamEcurX0BYQbJI3iX2weJKH_7LlQ-46tREEe0ESuI9eRpGNoKjYjEa6uTuypb5j9AHnzyzPiGRhIygZaSQT_ZK7RDw7g11vZbYDb/s320/210.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me doing my best J-Lo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By day, people pack the beautiful beach clubs, sipping on expensive cocktails and washing it all down with even more expensive bottles of water. The food is decadent ... lavish seafood paellas and large portions of lobster and sushi ... I'll say, you pay for the food, but the quality and portions are there to make it feel worth while.<br />
<br />
Friday we chartered a private sailboat for our group of six ... though the motoring was a bit slow and rolly-polly, we did finally make it to our destination - the beautiful sister island of Formentera. Certainly the highlight of the trip for me was the gorgeous outdoor restaurant tucked away off the beach, with flowing white curtains and mussels and shellfish to die for. Yum! This, my friends, is how to live.<br />
<br />
Saturday we spent the day at Blue Marlin Beach Club and then made our way to the most well known club Pacha for another splendid dinner and dancing. Scantily clad performers kept the eyes entertained in this stunning club. What a great way to celebrate Angela's birthday! And, the magnum of French Rose on the beach will never be forgotten.<br />
<br />
Sunday, was a repeat ... relaxing on a sun bed like the rich and famous at Ushuaia, then packing in around the giant outdoor stage and pool to sweat it out to Avicii. Definitely the best musical set for me ... this guy is only 23, coming from Sweden. If you haven't heard him before, here is one of his most popular, and perhaps a video more exemplary of how our trip really went!<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/_ovdm2yX4MA" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
And a slide show as well!!<br />
<br />
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634699090693%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F9320827404%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634699090693%2Fwith%2F9320827404%2F&set_id=72157634699090693&jump_to=9320827404"></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634699090693%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F9320827404%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634699090693%2Fwith%2F9320827404%2F&set_id=72157634699090693&jump_to=9320827404" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-56220733119667163172013-07-16T20:07:00.000+01:002013-07-16T20:07:07.601+01:00Three Years ...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kabrln6HKjqL5c7K5ivGdOP_t2rth0ceG0tlwxe-Zbw_0v3OQ32D2vmfCh_NYVmF3K7BmONno5UdeHPFNqYhsEZ1Hbafknro3NjL04h3pe9CKj_dFW9MdxRDeremTk3arA1MJxBkcdUg/s1600/IMG_3040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kabrln6HKjqL5c7K5ivGdOP_t2rth0ceG0tlwxe-Zbw_0v3OQ32D2vmfCh_NYVmF3K7BmONno5UdeHPFNqYhsEZ1Hbafknro3NjL04h3pe9CKj_dFW9MdxRDeremTk3arA1MJxBkcdUg/s320/IMG_3040.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ride from London Heathrow, July 2010</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Three years ago yesterday I boarded a plane with a one-way ticket to a land I had never been to, thousands of miles away. Three years ago today, I got off that plane with more excitement, fear, and anticipation than one heart should handle - eyes darting about as my black taxi (with the driver notably sitting on the wrong side) whisked me across London past one major site after another, dropping me off at my little corporate housing flat near Chancery Lane. As I envision that day, I do seem younger then.<br />
<br />
Today I reflected on myself, who I am now, and questioned whether I was "changed" from this experience. Yes, I have grown immensely in my career and this global experience has sling shot me ahead in that arena. My travels are irreplaceable experiences that have shown me culture, diversity, history, decadence, and of course culinary delights ... but has that <i>changed</i> ... <i>me ... </i>?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ThME6yTF0asBLhjOqevKgF2LdAf1T9L5FZqJWel0avxx6HdCp0jGIREiuztCjZmsWKi2Llolz3l5IwHhyphenhyphenTf-BPMGrCMWkvhppkYpvhqyfaGF5OsAVIvaD-rYAhJYbWp4soQan6DdEZm4/s1600/IMG_3244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ThME6yTF0asBLhjOqevKgF2LdAf1T9L5FZqJWel0avxx6HdCp0jGIREiuztCjZmsWKi2Llolz3l5IwHhyphenhyphenTf-BPMGrCMWkvhppkYpvhqyfaGF5OsAVIvaD-rYAhJYbWp4soQan6DdEZm4/s320/IMG_3244.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First weekend in London, July 2010</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm not so sure ... I still prefer solitude, control of a situation, avoid conflict, and voice my honest, direct feedback. I find peace in simple pleasures each day, such as blooming flowers and setting suns. I get so jazzed up by a gourmet food store and find few greater pastimes than browsing an outdoor market. I am neurotic and love puzzles, knitting, counting my footsteps as I run 5K. The sun on my skin and sea near my toes is where I long to be ... same as in 2010 before I made this journey.<br />
<br />
As opposed to changing me, I think this experience so far has enhanced me ... made me more aware and is helping me to truly see those things in myself that make me who I am and bring me the greatest joy ... those situations that no matter my location and experience where I am happiest ... speaking of which, time to pop off to the pub around the corner to catch up on the local neighbourhood gossip over a glass of wine and a delicious meal (indeed, some things never change).<br />
<br />
<br />The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-16814096980766165622013-07-10T22:30:00.000+01:002013-07-23T20:27:46.166+01:00Those who run with bulls ...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9tdaahRP3kUZgDKb_R6YVgSKbZ2UPqnx3fCzNBZCL2MhwhxpQcv42RoKZvPJwoOYuLo6WPMt6FaoagusHLZ1tA0E0lmLSTxmFxZaY9FBT_U8P0Vp5MGZmEiq3gqbjbU1j0u5mo8UfIIKr/s1600/295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9tdaahRP3kUZgDKb_R6YVgSKbZ2UPqnx3fCzNBZCL2MhwhxpQcv42RoKZvPJwoOYuLo6WPMt6FaoagusHLZ1tA0E0lmLSTxmFxZaY9FBT_U8P0Vp5MGZmEiq3gqbjbU1j0u5mo8UfIIKr/s400/295.JPG" width="400" /></a>This weekend I had an impromptu invite for a road trip to Pamplona, Spain to run with the bulls. Running with the infamous bulls was certainly a fantasy I had imagined, like many, many others, but I hadn't thought I would actually be there one day. Humbly, it was such a kind, unconditional offer ... sooo, yes! I accept!<br />
<br />
The festival of San Fermin as it is known, is a social celebration marking the old transition of passing the bulls from the farm to the arena for slaughter and respecting the "Saint" Fermin. To me the gesture carries a sense of romance. It is the largest, most known Spanish festival in the world.<br />
<br />
A 4+ hour road trip from Barcelona - first through the green foot hills of Cataluna into the dry white hot desert and then back into the land of flowers - Navarro. Every quiet moment was worth more than face-value - the scenery was cornflower blue skies and yellow-gold grain dotted with fields of olive and fruit trees.<br />
<br />
We rented a flat from airbnb - which for me was a first, but in this situation it just fit. Our new mates were a joy - bringing us red scarves and delighting us with their little kitty (whom had her own little attitude and scarf for the day). Couldn't have been more kind.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbkcK2sfp9-hBBN9Hz3Mb5z4OmKul2psPynaUSwTcZQsPXYPgaOtPYU4LBiMJV9ldhaNEIPHuyDcqRTY6Xm4t004t4g65y6wWDOFJW0Su47kmx3obznM9tYv2mb7p9X5u0aCSZe5tCMye1/s1600/185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbkcK2sfp9-hBBN9Hz3Mb5z4OmKul2psPynaUSwTcZQsPXYPgaOtPYU4LBiMJV9ldhaNEIPHuyDcqRTY6Xm4t004t4g65y6wWDOFJW0Su47kmx3obznM9tYv2mb7p9X5u0aCSZe5tCMye1/s400/185.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Day one at San Fermin starts at12 Noon with rockets and ringing bells signifying the beginning of the nine day festival. You are not allowed to wear your scarf before this time, so all raise their red scarves in the air and promptly at 12N tie them around their necks. (Mind you, gallons of cheap sangria and watered down red wine is being chucked into the air at the same time, resulting in quite the scene and those pink shirts you see everywhere). <br />
<br />
Anyway, after that massive experience the like-dressed people flood the narrow streets of the historic town, popping into the bars / dancing / eating sandwiches of jamon y queso / peeing / tossing wine / passing out in the parks ... makes very interesting people watching. And the fact that everyone is in the same outfit does provide for a peaceful, unifying experience. I had a wonderful time ... and I learned that in some parts of the world Coca Cola mixed with red wine is the #1 drink I want to order. Don't knock it 'til 'ya try it.<br />
<br />
Though a lot of this trip was about fun and adventure, I should mention the bull fight itself, which we made a good decision to attend Friday night. I am a carnivorous snout-to-tail person, but it is still quite unnerving to witness the torture and death caused in the ring. {Frankly I had naively questioned whether bullfighting was still legal - yes, it is in Spain apparently}. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFQIz1Ol-XPnBCaiwaOOX0HaOnBiHS3RCMMMbMMB69SDu28hwG0HhaP5mpR4khUnKlDXB24qi56Dg4UkK04yY7b4jOuaIWLnHuevKlBBG-qI8F2n9G4N94JEJxa-0hd-5n8ZrEx-f1hLP/s1600/138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFQIz1Ol-XPnBCaiwaOOX0HaOnBiHS3RCMMMbMMB69SDu28hwG0HhaP5mpR4khUnKlDXB24qi56Dg4UkK04yY7b4jOuaIWLnHuevKlBBG-qI8F2n9G4N94JEJxa-0hd-5n8ZrEx-f1hLP/s400/138.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
From my point of view I can still see a glimmer of the past. Back in the day the men of the farms did need to lure the bulls close enough so they could be slaughtered by the sword - but in modern times this is a gruesome sport where old women and children alike scream for the matador to cut off the giant fuzzy ear of the bull he just stabbed in the brain. Gross. And I suppose I personally identify with the bull, not the matador, so this feels like adding insult to injury.<br />
<br />
Back to the fiesta ... Saturday after delightful naps in the park, wondering delis to buy local cheese and wine, doing wine squirt contests from our hip "bota" to our own mouths and those of passers-by, we found a local spot to have a sit down meal and a wonder back to the bus pass the popping fireworks overhead the singing masses stained in pink.<br />
<br />
Although we did wake up at 6AM that morning to get to the race (which starts at 8AM each morning of the fiesta) we did not actually run with the bulls ... I know, disappointing, but I am telling you, that is not a tourist activity. Bulls run very fast, they are humongous, the streets are narrow with tight turns and those horns are reeeeally pointy - not to mention, many have stayed up the entire 20+ hours from the 12 Noon kickoff and don't exactly have their wits about them. Of all the 1,000s of people I saw run into the stadium, I only saw two girls. <br />
<br />
Though I really would have loved to have been straddling the fence as the adrenaline of bulls and young men raced by, my San Fermin experience was a perfect seat right up close in the Plaza de Toros where the bulls and crowd race to the finish. Exhilarating! And after the wide-eyed runners get into the stadium there is quite a bit of comedy as they actually release some smaller, less risky bulls back into the stadium. Oh how the people run! Ha ha ha.<br />
<br />
<object height="300" style="clear: left; float: left;" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634575546853%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F9256213366%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634575546853%2Fwith%2F9256213366%2F&set_id=72157634575546853&jump_to=9256213366"></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634575546853%2Fshow%2Fwith%2F9256213366%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157634575546853%2Fwith%2F9256213366%2F&set_id=72157634575546853&jump_to=9256213366" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>Anyway, I am glad I had the opportunity to travel across Eastern Spain to breath the air in that round stadium and be one of those that runs with bulls (well, close enough).The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-8962176939154167592013-06-21T12:51:00.001+01:002013-06-21T17:46:05.808+01:00Survival of the FittestEach day I am in London I work from my kitchen table, which has a beautiful view into my back garden area. Not only does it have the perfect little round tree and dozens of pots of herbs and flowers, it is also a constant streaming video of residential National Geographic.<br />
<br />
Varietals of song birds are the backdrop to my day; playful squirrels dig up last season's buried nuts, the neighbour's cats do their lazy yoga poses, and our local pack of foxes patrol back and forth along the back stretch.<br />
<br />
The past few weeks there has been a new series ... a Mama blackbird built her nest in the giant Hydrangea bush and her young-ins are now looking fluffy and strong. She has whizzed my head all too close a few times to let me know this space was clearly not mine for the time being.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzU9exW9IbhVP7tRn7OFuaf1_A-Jk1ynBCoav4x3hudHflmX0FgnriAxObEuqVbradljMI39UN4BpR_0YM35bTtJii605h88653I37I8UarZ_FQxPYOwsM399fXa8jOFFiCCyf6W-g_hbI/s1600/baby-blackbird-fallwn-out-of-the-nest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzU9exW9IbhVP7tRn7OFuaf1_A-Jk1ynBCoav4x3hudHflmX0FgnriAxObEuqVbradljMI39UN4BpR_0YM35bTtJii605h88653I37I8UarZ_FQxPYOwsM399fXa8jOFFiCCyf6W-g_hbI/s1600/baby-blackbird-fallwn-out-of-the-nest.jpg" /></a>Today I spied some fluffy movement in the Geranium plant, and lo and behold one of the little guys had made his first flight attempt. He has been bouncing around the stone pavement, pecking at bits, a little disorientated and possibly a bit regretful. Mama has been diligent however, bringing him snacks.<br />
<br />
As I watched the little guy I was proud of him for being the strong one of the group ... leaping bravely into the unknown, driven only by nature's forces. I thought about how in any pack there is the headstrong, the leader, the bull ... and then ... I thought about the foxes. Gulp.<br />
<br />
This dumbass is going to be lunch (and I get to witness the swift snapping up, feathers flying while on my 3P conference call). It makes you ponder ... is it really the strong and brave that make the first leap, or are they the pre-designed sacrificial lambs for the rest of the herd to be taught the valuable lesson first hand of careful consideration / the cruel world / look before you leap?<br />
<br />
We as a society tend to envy the adventurous, high risk takers. Personally, I think I will take this little lesson as a sign that being cautious and observant, witnessing and learning from others is the best approach to not ending up as someone else's lunch.<br />
<br />
<br />The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-81684781166680707572013-06-13T21:05:00.002+01:002013-06-13T21:05:51.464+01:00Reverse Culture Shock<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">After living in London for some time now, social behaviours that at first seemed quite strange have become my daily norm (I myself and the proud owner of 5 pairs of skinny pants). So much so, that on visits back to the US some of my observations suggest I may be undergoing some social conditioning in London. When this happens I think "whoa", pause to take notice, and reflect on the intricacies of what is the "social Norm".</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Let's call this reverse culture shock. Here are some examples I kept track of on this most recent trip to Chicago (all of which, when considering their opposite point out some of the initial shocks undergone when I moved to the UK)</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• <b>People drive</b> - I literally stopped in the street after jumping the El and lugging my bag 6 blocks to remember what that was like, and everyone I knew had a car.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim6waX9uyvpllzq_FNLW7W2_5bP_cPD0mx5tcGAD6_wVa4q5Ad_WI9Sfndwh1asbZB4qC4yh9S0GQO1hELZoehayv6l_PmBiAx4xv9bg0l6RQu-W32_3cRC_OzkigamQHRCtOlcZyl5Oh1/s1600/photo+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim6waX9uyvpllzq_FNLW7W2_5bP_cPD0mx5tcGAD6_wVa4q5Ad_WI9Sfndwh1asbZB4qC4yh9S0GQO1hELZoehayv6l_PmBiAx4xv9bg0l6RQu-W32_3cRC_OzkigamQHRCtOlcZyl5Oh1/s400/photo+%25281%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• The <b>accent </b>- oh yeah, they're American here.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• Belligerently <b>standing on the left side</b> of the escalator - a stunt known to result in homicidal thoughts to most Brits, and interestingly ex-pats as well after some time.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• The size of the <b>robins </b>- holy cow they are huge!</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• <b>Hispanics </b>... Awww yeah ... Salsa music howling from open car windows</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• On a related note ... <b>Guys </b>check you out ... and talk to you ... and honk ... and whistle ...</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• No <b>skinny pants</b> - I was looking.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• <b>Tube tops</b> - searches in London were fruitless. Must have been 20 kinds in the PayHalf on Milwaukee. Yessss.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• <b>Hipsters</b>. The real ones. Everywhere, and invented in Logan Square.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• Bottomless <b>coffee</b>. Bot-Tom-Less. Now if we could only get England to adopt the bottomless Monmouth Latte.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• What do you call that place where you go to the bathroom? It's not <b>the loo</b>, as I have called it twice much to the confusion of others</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• <b>Pretty people</b>. Not quite as easy to find in England.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">• Hearing this: "I'm sorry ma'am, the <b>kitchen closes at 9</b>". Huh? I've been ridiculed for setting bookings earlier than that.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Social studies have always been a keen interest of mine, and this life experience not only has provided me with a window to observe many European cultures, but also a valuable chance to reflect back on where I come from and the things we do that make us unique as well. Fun!</span><br />
The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-40384007472660612072013-04-24T23:13:00.000+01:002013-04-24T23:13:04.602+01:00Como no??<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwaosrzGr7fwsFIs74dBQU0WcKnQOAujt0xk_th_GjMPML6DxGIaRSwQZbFVgJju5QvX-X45DQisH7ZgaT5iHZeYavoSUGAHi8yYGxMsPe9SKSJVeQPkRovPoyuFtu55Ux-xFa3kynNzq/s1600/Como+107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwaosrzGr7fwsFIs74dBQU0WcKnQOAujt0xk_th_GjMPML6DxGIaRSwQZbFVgJju5QvX-X45DQisH7ZgaT5iHZeYavoSUGAHi8yYGxMsPe9SKSJVeQPkRovPoyuFtu55Ux-xFa3kynNzq/s400/Como+107.jpg" width="400" /></a>The title - a play on words meaning "Why not?". Precisely my attitude as I booked this trip to Lake Como in Northern Italy. If I have to be in Milan every few weeks, why not take advantage of it and stay the weekend for a train trip out of the city? Stunning Lake Como is just an hour ride, but feels as if you were transported to another planet.<br />
<br />
This was a solo trip ... envisioned as a weekend alone with fresh, cool mountain air, wondering, relaxing, wining and dining. Mental leg kick! It was all that ... I returned refreshed, with my lethargic winter heaviness shed.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQVs0bn4uUctNiJ29evTpkQx8tqarng5wXKpmt8vJyxJm-a5A5sRPkueWvt9GVbzhpZTk9ta2B_O5kXvjZQNSrR3y0qAx-7qb6nU7y7FHx944SpnPeXxvGRFQ0hDJjvxkEilWjGjCn_iI/s1600/Como+093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQVs0bn4uUctNiJ29evTpkQx8tqarng5wXKpmt8vJyxJm-a5A5sRPkueWvt9GVbzhpZTk9ta2B_O5kXvjZQNSrR3y0qAx-7qb6nU7y7FHx944SpnPeXxvGRFQ0hDJjvxkEilWjGjCn_iI/s320/Como+093.jpg" width="240" /></a>Truth be told, it rained the entire weekend. Non-stop. It was dry enough for me to walk from the train station to the hotel, but the instant I arrived a strong thunderstorm passed over the lake. It was awesome. Really. London gets persistent rain, but no thunder and lightening and I miss those strong storms that blow through the Midwest, especially as an unseasonally warm day is pushed out by a cold front.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdK6HgCEbxV9bYrJH_jDsPdvF9xHkQQ4TAs8wifmUlhmcdi0qyieuUa3kPLdHb0lSEGTB757PBTWvmLYnyYS1E75VrKWjAn_vZo1CjGoGeq_EyC-MJg6Qgd6CbLXZqpAcxzJheHDj-O418/s1600/Como+342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdK6HgCEbxV9bYrJH_jDsPdvF9xHkQQ4TAs8wifmUlhmcdi0qyieuUa3kPLdHb0lSEGTB757PBTWvmLYnyYS1E75VrKWjAn_vZo1CjGoGeq_EyC-MJg6Qgd6CbLXZqpAcxzJheHDj-O418/s320/Como+342.jpg" width="240" /></a>Nonetheless, my adventure was not derailed. After the worst of it passed, I grabbed the brelly to stroll into the evening along the coastal path into the old town of Varenna - a sleepy old fishing village with just a few {closed} store fronts on the water and about half a dozen alley ways of infinite staircases leading up the mountain to the square of town. There wasn't a soul to be found on the streets ... later I learned from a local the storm was quite bad, causing a landslide outside of town that closed off the main road.<br />
<br />
The wind proved too strong, so I found refuge in a little restaurant with a view for a glass of wine and a starter of what only can be described as chic fish spread ... of course, while being on the lake my goal was to taste as many of the its culinary treats. I was joined by the cuddly house Kitty, as I sat and read my book before braving the elements to shift camp to another restaurant of choice for a proper lake fish ravioli dinner and glass of local red wine. Annnddddd good night!<br />
<br />
Up bright and early to assure I didn't miss anything in Varenna the night before (I didn't) and catch the ferry across the lake to the town of Bellagio. This is the belle of the lake, a darling small Italian town known for attracting an affluent crowd to enjoy a day of manoeuvring the slim stairways lined with shops (the best silk in the world is said to come from Como) and ending with a glass of wine in the enoteca before and after a delicious local meal. And so I did! <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFsHSFfcVokyxIZ-4Log9RmF3omLYnOK0Oke9l2WEZjMswUZFHJaWIpPGJMLtNWd_dZ1H5Prn-wei7vK35U9Kc8n7dU_vcDfn4mp7eeCaHBZ3VHAwNNePSZPnaBTPEzQ3bVQwYQPmx1xz/s1600/Como+188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFsHSFfcVokyxIZ-4Log9RmF3omLYnOK0Oke9l2WEZjMswUZFHJaWIpPGJMLtNWd_dZ1H5Prn-wei7vK35U9Kc8n7dU_vcDfn4mp7eeCaHBZ3VHAwNNePSZPnaBTPEzQ3bVQwYQPmx1xz/s320/Como+188.jpg" width="320" /></a>Sunday morning, again I was early to rise to tackle a three hour hike through the "suburbs of Bellagio". Ha ha ... suburb. Still raining, but having adopted the attitude that it is easier to get wet and get the full view then struggle with the brelly, I wondered the roads, through grasslands of former mansions, past groves of olive trees, witnessed locals pushing a historic fishing boat to the waters ... I was so in awe of the power and beauty of the clouded mountains I took dozens of pictures ... often of the exact same scene in attempt to bring it all back with me. Breathtaking (and not just from the stairs).<br />
<br />
After an invigorating boat trip back to Varenna staring into the snow-capped mountain peaks and a lunch of warm bean and pasta soup, it was time to jump back on the train to hustle and bustle of Milan and onward to London (just as the blue sky started to peak through the clouds). Fortunately, the Spring weather in London welcomed me back to continue the momentum and I am good as new!<br />
<br />
SLIDE SHOW!<br />
<br />
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=id-id&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157633321487402%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157633321487402%2F&set_id=72157633321487402&jump_to="></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=id-id&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157633321487402%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157633321487402%2F&set_id=72157633321487402&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>
The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-22312653332571975782013-03-30T00:01:00.000+00:002013-03-30T11:03:23.772+00:00The Female tribe hits Fiorenza!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDBb4UiKsNOxTvJC6mMB_5wkW4mgwvxpslcWw-_Uw4s4snGhbT4RAZYBc0spCLynX6qi5FuydToTxCVFyRdyVkoiZe0GKSz6KuoCoYHntopVfQcgixKpJ3KxTBr_zOxe-GLzeW8JjrohV/s1600/Florence+099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDBb4UiKsNOxTvJC6mMB_5wkW4mgwvxpslcWw-_Uw4s4snGhbT4RAZYBc0spCLynX6qi5FuydToTxCVFyRdyVkoiZe0GKSz6KuoCoYHntopVfQcgixKpJ3KxTBr_zOxe-GLzeW8JjrohV/s320/Florence+099.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I tend to not speak much about my gang here on the blog, as I typically "respect other people's right to not be written about on the internet", but this past weekend was a major event in the Alpha-Alpha-Alpha-Alpha-Alpha (you get the picture) sorority and is worth note in this journal of goings-on in my life.<br />
<br />
I am so, so, so fortunate to have found myself surrounded by a collection of brilliant, beautiful, funny, smart, brave, honest, susceptible, humble, up-for-anything, loving ladies. Friends with diverse backgrounds, interests, characteristics ... and all bring unique value and growth to my life.<br />
<br />
We've come about as friends of friends or co-workers and I'm just so dang lucky we did! This weekend seven of us decided on a road trip to commemorate the escape of one of the Alphs. One of our ladies has fallen in love with a Scandalous Scandinavian and is off to move to Oslo in just two weeks now!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0S4rZ6EFwKFoyK3j0Ztiri7RbiCotQbt2oInDNvqfEvAgniOSL23Gf7ivr4-Y5DpPZ5zvkBuZIe3Yw94drMZtd3eijJA-YySAD4t0gOzqSYPw8h49rh_xnJ-AOmYEvi49VemO-Ck8VTNI/s1600/Florence+244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0S4rZ6EFwKFoyK3j0Ztiri7RbiCotQbt2oInDNvqfEvAgniOSL23Gf7ivr4-Y5DpPZ5zvkBuZIe3Yw94drMZtd3eijJA-YySAD4t0gOzqSYPw8h49rh_xnJ-AOmYEvi49VemO-Ck8VTNI/s320/Florence+244.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ponte Vecchio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And celebrate we did ... three days in Florence, Italy - the home of food, Chianti, love, and from my experience tons of naked people cast in stone. We took an hour train from Pisa, stayed in a couple amazing apartments on the river overlooking the "<i>Ponte Vecchio</i>" and spent our time between shopping, resting, wining and dining.<br />
<br />
Tuscany ... in my American-movie fed dreams, this is the land of promised green rolling hills, olive oil, and love affairs with some sort of bicycle / teacher / dark hair intertwined (perhaps I need to return some day). We remained in the city of Florence, perusing the markets for leather goods, stopping for frequent gelato breaks, staring up at the unexpected giantness of what is "David", and eating meals that included every last bit of an anti, primi, and a secondi ... woot! <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhsFbf-2WaUfYw0Ay-7TRzhcw8EuMI4NnLKJyyUbLPDxL7lcXi5mcYF_fNm_RcGaxLGkrcUCaMFmnQtcF4q6KP0qlSv2ih56GTrIzW9p0QEABV_RRgyTmKmJQIRaHjYuJL0S_dJ4kYjlF/s1600/Florence+045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhsFbf-2WaUfYw0Ay-7TRzhcw8EuMI4NnLKJyyUbLPDxL7lcXi5mcYF_fNm_RcGaxLGkrcUCaMFmnQtcF4q6KP0qlSv2ih56GTrIzW9p0QEABV_RRgyTmKmJQIRaHjYuJL0S_dJ4kYjlF/s320/Florence+045.jpg" width="240" /></a>As I wrote the second paragraph above and used the word "susceptible" I paused to Google it. It is one of those words that in some sense connotates weakness and I wanted to assure I wasn't describing the girls with a word that may be mis-construed in a negative way (let's be real, I tend to throw a solid jab here and there, so wanted to check myself!). <br />
<br />
But as I ponder its definition { <i>Adjective: 1) Likely or liable to be influenced or harmed by a particular thing. 2) (of a person) Easily influenced by feelings or emotions; sensitive. } </i>I truly think there is no more fitting term as I reflect on this weekend, its significance, and the attendees. As often as we ladies have to put on our head-strong, lead-the-world, take-no-prisoners hats, it is nice to see a lovely woman throw it all to the wind, strip down and say there is nothing I would rather do than be with this person, the man I love, trust, want to have babies with ... so much so that I will stay for months in frigid hours of darkness, learn a new language that sounds no more understandable than tak-a-tak-tak-a-tak, meet strangers and call them family, smoke salmon and reindeer meat at home, and endlessly "train" for cross-country skiing events.<br />
<br />
Best of luck to you sweetheart ... though scary, at a minimum you have inspired me and made me proud. I'm sure the other Alphs would agree. Hugs.<br />
<br />
<< SLIDESHOW! >><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157633117359107%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157633117359107%2F&set_id=72157633117359107&jump_to="></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157633117359107%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157633117359107%2F&set_id=72157633117359107&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-13834597680382581242013-03-08T13:22:00.000+00:002013-03-08T13:22:07.569+00:00International Women's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfFSAxYsHHPG6Ff1HZ1EAyaHeV57-Cy2RfqfACVc1NfnqSOMNCu2QNKaHt3s7-c5mJd0hX1ULPTnGJkrMoxdzqk6K6aIfw_B-_-F7ms1LE9Jk_lJmgSzTdu-u2ZEUamK505LSIr4HduGV/s1600/Feminism.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfFSAxYsHHPG6Ff1HZ1EAyaHeV57-Cy2RfqfACVc1NfnqSOMNCu2QNKaHt3s7-c5mJd0hX1ULPTnGJkrMoxdzqk6K6aIfw_B-_-F7ms1LE9Jk_lJmgSzTdu-u2ZEUamK505LSIr4HduGV/s320/Feminism.jpg" width="272" /></a></div>
I've noticed my inner feminist is starting to stir. Amongst certain company that suggestion will provoke negative connotations and definitely raise an eyebrow or two regarding the fact that I am 37 and still a single lady (?!!??!!??), but I am not talking about being a man-hater, I am talking about being a female-promoter. Since moving to Europe certain situations have caught my attention, causing me to be aware of my womanhood ... instances where the fact that I was a woman was brought to the forward of my consciousness (and I'm not talking about those welcomed encounters).<br />
<br />
For example, while boarding an airplane at London's City Airport for Milan, the jet bridge is jammed with men in their 30-50s, wearing sharp black suits, fashionable ties, poking away at their smartphones. Aside from a fashionista or two, it seemed as if I was the only woman flying to Milan to conduct business (at least one senior enough to justify the expense of the city airport). Needless to say, I was the only woman sitting at the table of that Board meeting. Hm.<br />
<br />
Or, while walking through the Mobile World Congress in Barcelona last week, the crowd was at least 4:1 male, and much to my disgust the majority of females at the show were scantly clad, their only purpose being to tout the latest shiny device to previously mentioned male-dominated crowd. My skin crawled.<br />
<br />
I've also felt the same in the UK, where Board rooms are majority male and it is quite acceptable to tell a woman leader she "sounds like a naggy wife" when she raises concerns about business decisions. Stories from friends revealing male leaders in their offices touching and embarrassing young ladies enrage me.<br />
<br />
I just don't recall many situations like this in the US. Upon reflecting my own personal history, I never really considered the fact that I was a female when it came to my own education and career path. Perhaps the U.S. is more progressive than Europe in this sense (go us!), but I also realize now that I am fortunate to have role models in my life that helped me navigate around the oppression many women face along the way.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4TEXO3Ku3KHnG3xMTjnv7Kbtq3MJwSARKkvv6SeQ4fxv4SZDx-1s2FXp87sq9XgePyGEagOo77emhm3bPbG5HPirwu7GLDHR3Sq5tMqGs5H4AFj2VxBZsDkm3nAGlk1pQ5gtI_Mvl4z4/s1600/feminist-doormat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4TEXO3Ku3KHnG3xMTjnv7Kbtq3MJwSARKkvv6SeQ4fxv4SZDx-1s2FXp87sq9XgePyGEagOo77emhm3bPbG5HPirwu7GLDHR3Sq5tMqGs5H4AFj2VxBZsDkm3nAGlk1pQ5gtI_Mvl4z4/s1600/feminist-doormat.jpg" /></a>For starters, I remember quite vividly watching my Mom get ready to go to work when I was young. I would lay in her bed, and she would put on her power suit, pumps, and jewellery to go hit the streets to tackle business in her sporty little car. I always thought how smart, fearless, and beautiful she was, and I know this subtle ritual was very impressionable on me. I wanted to be just like her. <br />
<br />
She taught me to get good grades, have expectations for myself and others, and beyond all, to be self-reliant with a good job. If I did those things, everything else would work out. I never remember, ever, a conversation about how I was a girl and expected to do less, or that boys could do some things and girls should do others. Bull-mallarky. If anything, I was shown that as a girl you should simply work harder.<br />
<br />
And I have to give credit to the company I work for. From the very first position I held, I was encouraged to grow, learn and take on more. My first boss was a woman, our CEO at the time was a woman, my second boss was a woman, I was hired by a woman to move to Europe, my mentors are mostly women, and as I look at the executive leadership team today easily half are women, if not more. Never has sexuality been a topic at work, aside from the encouragement to continue to be present and to celebrate our diversity. Today, our company issued a series of twenty short videos of our leadership around the world expressing their support of International Woman's Day. I am quite proud to be part of this.<br />
<br />
So, on this International Woman's Day, I hope everyone takes the time to acknowledge that our private bits are not an acceptable source of discrimination, to call out those cases in which you see that discrimination taking place, to encourage young woman in your lives that anything is possible, and to thank those who've encouraged you along the way. You should never feel uncomfortable or less than anyone else because you are female and societies that do not encourage their women are not realizing their full potential. And, I have to say, I'm quite looking forward to getting a copy of Cheryl Sandburg's book <i>Lean In</i>, coming out Monday (Facebook's COO and female activist). <br />
<br />
Thanks Mom, and to all of you strong ladies in my life, "You've come a long way baby"!The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-42322897349231649022013-03-03T17:21:00.000+00:002013-03-03T17:21:54.162+00:00Barcelona - a Foodie HeavenI just downloaded 355 pictures from my trip to Barcelona - a tell tale sign that there was a LOT of eye candy in that city! Last week there was a global convention for those that supply the mobile industry (think phones, tablets, wireless technology, app venders ... eight football arena sized halls of it), and I got to attend on behalf of Nielsen (we're trying to measure what you do on your device!).<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2hCwxBJaSzWrI_2_D4GkoPfS10xE0TQEqDSlo2Va0IyEHAWFMMBDMBSvU7NllPQapXafebMSQNRGXqxy-7rL7tj6VCYT4Z11InDqPXwhkjbdZl8Cy8mW01XTqOBoHQBk9q8pYCy4hFxg/s1600/Barca+010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2hCwxBJaSzWrI_2_D4GkoPfS10xE0TQEqDSlo2Va0IyEHAWFMMBDMBSvU7NllPQapXafebMSQNRGXqxy-7rL7tj6VCYT4Z11InDqPXwhkjbdZl8Cy8mW01XTqOBoHQBk9q8pYCy4hFxg/s320/Barca+010.jpg" width="320" /></a>Being that I had yet to visit this favourite city of many, I made a long weekend of it to see what the city had to offer. Work has been quite busy, so I did not have much time to do the research I typically do before visiting a new place in order to assure nothing is missed. Fortunately I made do.<br />
<br />
I did get in a quick Google search of "food markets Barcelona" and found the grand-mack-daddy of them all. And, I did scan TripAdvisor for the best tapas restaurants. Armed with that knowledge, I made my way Friday evening to "Bar Celta". A quick and easy fried tapas kind of joint near the sea that is also a <i>pulperia </i>(or restaurant that specializes in octopus). Gross to some, a special delight to others ... I ate an entire plateful sprinkled with parprika, along with large plate of <i>pimentos de padron</i> (flash-fried, loads of salt). And, they put a bottle of chilled, local white wine in front of you and you just pay for how much you drink out of it. Bliss.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFC4HOM9VHELf9URfrtE_r4N8KpmZXDsZ8-LDAsy8inbJmXDU-D3mMu7yoYD9xCFf6NbgHj1q1qfYm0QlNUCBfzdhxwvg7hzOIKf4mrHg3qcBrB3-7WDTJTeiadNAl8ierhswRY_mJKA7/s1600/Barca+016+edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFC4HOM9VHELf9URfrtE_r4N8KpmZXDsZ8-LDAsy8inbJmXDU-D3mMu7yoYD9xCFf6NbgHj1q1qfYm0QlNUCBfzdhxwvg7hzOIKf4mrHg3qcBrB3-7WDTJTeiadNAl8ierhswRY_mJKA7/s320/Barca+016+edit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Saturday was designed to wander the <i>Bari Gotic</i> and <i>Las Ramblas</i> - the old heart of the city and main drag which runs down the middle. The hotel was a metro ride form the centre, so I am now an expert on one more city's public transport system. The Bari is exactly what you want to find when you travel to a European city ... little winding alley ways, lined with shuttered balconies holding laundry, ferns, and local flags. Main stream shops are interspersed with local speciality shops, and fortunately many old businesses are still in tact.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFk5a9bqmYMvcN6Vn6gGSJyqehubxnZ5w-2QHQrkwWF-JQHRu0UGeWpKc9ljJ6KvXpPOjBknrMMKWtgfFl6SHsa0UacqWDGTBOgEaRiyBxT-FkK74EXCzPtfkuQrqgZ13v2Ga4ohb0Xea9/s1600/Barca+093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFk5a9bqmYMvcN6Vn6gGSJyqehubxnZ5w-2QHQrkwWF-JQHRu0UGeWpKc9ljJ6KvXpPOjBknrMMKWtgfFl6SHsa0UacqWDGTBOgEaRiyBxT-FkK74EXCzPtfkuQrqgZ13v2Ga4ohb0Xea9/s320/Barca+093.jpg" width="240" /></a>By mid-day we made our way to the <i>Mercat Lo Boqueria</i>, aka Heaven on Earth. This foodie haven provides a solid challenge to my beloved Borough market in London for best in the world. It seems every kind of anything edible the great Earth provides is under this roof - every possible type of fruit, veg, spice, cheese, fish, and meat ... ohhh, the jamon! Catalunya is the home to Iberica ham ... its not cheap, but oh is it delicious. Jamon in a cone! After strolling each and every lane, eating along the way, we stopped to take a load off at a little tapas bar in the market. I had some delicious anchovies with the local Estrella beer. The only reason I could walk out of there was because I knew I would be back before the end of the trip.<br />
<br />
From there we continued on our wondering way, seeing the Arc di Triomf (its not only Paris that has one!) with a flock of parrots feeding in front, a darling little shoe shop with every colour imaginable, antique shops with old food tins, and a stop off for a devilish hot chocolate (which was more akin to molten chocolate sauce you'd pour on a sundae, eaten with a little spoon).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOsujHCJaqmQq_-fkas6ZT0brO_cXFSKe8u24_g9wF_OCSdoEQT2yMD9gvBgZWF6jnhRUXvJOn4KlsFdlndN0TD4EaEDZsXz_Z4p2otPmg8wq3H2G-gX4bS0_WWAu9ljuU0KyhrVkL2ztC/s1600/Barca+136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOsujHCJaqmQq_-fkas6ZT0brO_cXFSKe8u24_g9wF_OCSdoEQT2yMD9gvBgZWF6jnhRUXvJOn4KlsFdlndN0TD4EaEDZsXz_Z4p2otPmg8wq3H2G-gX4bS0_WWAu9ljuU0KyhrVkL2ztC/s320/Barca+136.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
For dinner we went to <i>La Paradeta</i> on a recommendation from a friend. This counter-service restaurant sure was popular, indicated by the line of locals winding down the street waiting to get in. It works like this ... counter is overflowing with ice and the freshest of seafood. You get to the counter and order (in Catalan) which items you want, the number of grams, and either grilled or fried. You grab a number and when you hear it called out (also in Catalan) you go to the window and pick it up. No fluff, just grilled squid, tuna, prawns, and I did have to try the razor clams (first time, and they are good). After a stop off for an after dinner glass of local red, and perhaps a couple tapas it was off to bed.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMNiTDnsB2novzDS2IJ4qCGnD3Q4fLZL72pXJeWPA7rn9UwdBA1NqMi4qsdi_EEZs2gnXM7V4mj8YZBDVsKYfLwTylOxWAaLOVCX4NGEVUQZx32XAOZwc6nH3vHI95yGaYwt6ALZKpZI2W/s1600/Barca+188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMNiTDnsB2novzDS2IJ4qCGnD3Q4fLZL72pXJeWPA7rn9UwdBA1NqMi4qsdi_EEZs2gnXM7V4mj8YZBDVsKYfLwTylOxWAaLOVCX4NGEVUQZx32XAOZwc6nH3vHI95yGaYwt6ALZKpZI2W/s320/Barca+188.jpg" width="320" /></a>Sunday was planned to be the more cultural day focused on seeing Gaudi's architectual masterpieces sprinkled throughout Barcelona. First, to Sagrada Familia, which left me with one headline - this guy is certifiable. Nuts. Pure genius. The mathematical design concepts he had to discover to build a structure like this, combined with his awesome abiilty to integrate design from nature and inability to say "when" made for some simply unbelievable results. I do have to say, I loved the primary coloured stained glass windows, but the church itself is simply just too "Gaudi". <br />
<br />
On our way over to some of his houses, we passed by a <i>xurreria</i>, or as it should be known, the place that makes best dang churro anywhere, ever. Thick, hot, filled with nutella, served in a paper cone from a guy whose been in business for more than 60 years ... fried dough will never go out of style.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXbZJOay_DcNmFfYnyBTAkzxb_pvDFJB30EY39v3_1aEi6k_waslwBsPh1WSzdqM29PT5If5ZcSc04g_yYL8qVw5n9IDBcIf9Q2f7An3qBR_TzXKo6myZenMIMJrvIkg8PYMx1ER0fLiM/s1600/Barca+216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXbZJOay_DcNmFfYnyBTAkzxb_pvDFJB30EY39v3_1aEi6k_waslwBsPh1WSzdqM29PT5If5ZcSc04g_yYL8qVw5n9IDBcIf9Q2f7An3qBR_TzXKo6myZenMIMJrvIkg8PYMx1ER0fLiM/s320/Barca+216.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Hmmm ... what else was notable ... lunch! Another highly recommended tapas spot Cerveceria Catalana, which served endless varieties of <i>montaditos</i>, or little slices of bread with a topper, usually tomatoes, fish, cheese, and also two key plates - a mountain of french-fried potatoes topped with tomato sauce and a fried egg (everyone was getting it, so of course we had to try it!) and also a plate of grilled green onions. Now, these onions, known as calcots, are not your every day onion (<a href="http://www.culinarybackstreets.com/barcelona/2013/calcots/" target="_blank">at least that is what this article says</a>). We had to watch others around us to figure out how to eat them ... which is to peel off the outer grilled skins and dredge the soft gooey center into tomato sauce. Combined with a pitcher of sweet sangria, this was classic Catalonia lunch. After a stroll along the coast and through the little Barceloneta neighborhood, it was back to the hotel to just take it easy ... no need to eat dinner that night!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7aPHlPbW5_h9KT24JbYOoLSoeWkWO1qwNA3pJj9LwzFA7q0RM1uGbmUAFGsyX1ln9hMIKMhfc_wECsWQy32ft_5S-JPV3YeCa9U8WCUB8oiR6oJXPmVlPAyL2RgAFrj3TNlkd_mM_kjoJ/s1600/Barca+256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7aPHlPbW5_h9KT24JbYOoLSoeWkWO1qwNA3pJj9LwzFA7q0RM1uGbmUAFGsyX1ln9hMIKMhfc_wECsWQy32ft_5S-JPV3YeCa9U8WCUB8oiR6oJXPmVlPAyL2RgAFrj3TNlkd_mM_kjoJ/s320/Barca+256.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
After spending two days and nights at the conference, I had some time on the final day before heading off to the airport to knock out a few more places. As if the weekend weren't enough, I was astounded to find many more foodie delights. First stop was <i>Casa Gispert</i>. This little dried food shop was been roasting nuts since the mid-19th century. They had the old roaster in back going when I was there ... the lighting from the flames, the aroma of almonds, and the historic shelves lined with dreamy delights was surreal. This is where I picked up my paella rice.<br />
<br />
Making my way to another food market,<i> Mercat Santa Catarina</i>, I came across an old pastry shop with these crunchy, chocolate and peanut covered thingies (and its making me crazy because I didn't get the name of them) and of course had to stop for a couple since they were so unique. This market was quite nice as well, with meat/cheese stalls dreams are made of. I wandered a bit and found a little shop selling paella pans, so that souvenier was a reality.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDSntzru-Bsm9lCZhVy83Kwv-XfQl_wgD0XzbVYtg1woSU9d-dCgkjIGe8nJu3dW2TYIP1qFl7cIE3_1GFtxfFz9LTuPBefDDDDZxe8ThMdV01wwdBehBhCIUagHPWNXCqRqKRhEC1XHa/s1600/Barca+294.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDSntzru-Bsm9lCZhVy83Kwv-XfQl_wgD0XzbVYtg1woSU9d-dCgkjIGe8nJu3dW2TYIP1qFl7cIE3_1GFtxfFz9LTuPBefDDDDZxe8ThMdV01wwdBehBhCIUagHPWNXCqRqKRhEC1XHa/s320/Barca+294.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Winding my way across town, stopping at <i>La Boqueria </i>market for one last mental hug and a toast with a glass of local Cava (I learned that Cava, Spain's answer to France's Champagne and Italy's Proseco, is from quite close to Barcelona), I made it over to the Parallel area of town for the grand finale meal at <i>Quimet i Quimet</i>. As chance would have it in a town like Barcelona, I walked past this amazing old bakery, serving <i>bunyols</i>, small little donut-hole like creations served in Barcelona only during the season of lent. Picked up a few of those babies and tucked them into my bag for a snack on the plane.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvh7UohnwIVYMKGOK-RLWtpHcTpPiSVX8GmzurxidDVD_OPquIAovyeo6mSOKV8kn03IrKTYGb7TYP-iPbSTJgvrCIKwQDvwuf3d9tyxWV80O-p_tfZzIyQxPK6iW0VsVWYNbnmrPGiuM/s1600/Barca+312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvh7UohnwIVYMKGOK-RLWtpHcTpPiSVX8GmzurxidDVD_OPquIAovyeo6mSOKV8kn03IrKTYGb7TYP-iPbSTJgvrCIKwQDvwuf3d9tyxWV80O-p_tfZzIyQxPK6iW0VsVWYNbnmrPGiuM/s320/Barca+312.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Anyway, in a less touristy part of town, this small little tapas counter (no seats) was epic. I did read about it online, and after seeing it in a gastronomy book I bought while in town, I had to make it there. Not much bigger than my kitchen, every bit of wall space from floor to ceiling is covered with wine and food products. They had some wicked montaditos, like salmon with truffled honey, shrimp dotted with caviar and creme freche, and the closer ... foie gras speckled with black volcanic salt. Ta dah!!!<br />
<br />
I have been on a veg and fruit diet for three days now! Barcelona ... one of the few cities I would make a repeat visit to. Next time, in the warm weather ... throw in visits to the beach and I may never leave!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://theborboleta.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/barcelona-foodie-heaven.html" target="_blank">OF COURSE THERE IS A SLIDE SHOW !!</a><br />
<br />
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632902923511%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632902923511%2F&set_id=72157632902923511&jump_to="></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=124984" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632902923511%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632902923511%2F&set_id=72157632902923511&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>
The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-25758147243870188052013-02-15T12:31:00.000+00:002013-02-15T12:31:07.707+00:00Shrove Tuesday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBlJB5SRE3aOoBGRl2AIMaHIH9ABngOFVb-_hhA3EuVXcg7Y5BXwyPJWhidAGKBCkyu7OnqMxr5YeBiuTdztg0Z4oLlz_7am3ZDHtPYupX6Kys_0d-me6VW2I5LQGCEalzxu5hRzCZk_J/s1600/Feb1+045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBlJB5SRE3aOoBGRl2AIMaHIH9ABngOFVb-_hhA3EuVXcg7Y5BXwyPJWhidAGKBCkyu7OnqMxr5YeBiuTdztg0Z4oLlz_7am3ZDHtPYupX6Kys_0d-me6VW2I5LQGCEalzxu5hRzCZk_J/s320/Feb1+045.jpg" width="240" /></a>Brazil has its tanned, feathered samba dancers. Venice its masked Carnival and New Orleans its debaucherous Mardi Gras. In England ... it is Pancake Day.<br />
<br />
The day before the start of the Lenten period in Catholic cultures has evolved into a massive party of sorts to celebrate all that is decadent in life in preparation for the forty days of deprivation to follow. Those cultures that are less Catholic generally do not celebrate this date, or have modified their approach ... thus England and its "Shrove Tuesday".<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihF42M_ey34hXAkqG-EVsrAmf2XcKt46-SZfVmR7BxhuP56nLUTT1AVJPb4HTe1lZhSwT-WK-a5QsUiaydJUgHCtt7f56R9ZS1nns55mu7_gcddALCTigJ8PM4nCSEuv3XOucuVZFBzowk/s1600/Feb1+044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihF42M_ey34hXAkqG-EVsrAmf2XcKt46-SZfVmR7BxhuP56nLUTT1AVJPb4HTe1lZhSwT-WK-a5QsUiaydJUgHCtt7f56R9ZS1nns55mu7_gcddALCTigJ8PM4nCSEuv3XOucuVZFBzowk/s200/Feb1+044.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
Pancakes are associated with the day preceding Lent because they were a way to use up rich foods such as eggs, milk, and sugar before the fasting season. So, all across the nation this past Tuesday night bands of people came together carrying ingredients of their liking (Nutella, sugar and butter, ham and cheese) to partake in the custom.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQJetCNKplOytG7etl7eDxi-Rs3-PJ7NTMiEQpHiVatcPjHGPUUiciznKja0LXMMhRnY3z25TeiCDl5cCNyOKwmvYqtwFkWV4psDOS3fQdqNTeAVPmE2quBbgA7nbKs4JnejbvCYHVT9f/s1600/Feb1+040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQJetCNKplOytG7etl7eDxi-Rs3-PJ7NTMiEQpHiVatcPjHGPUUiciznKja0LXMMhRnY3z25TeiCDl5cCNyOKwmvYqtwFkWV4psDOS3fQdqNTeAVPmE2quBbgA7nbKs4JnejbvCYHVT9f/s320/Feb1+040.jpg" width="240" /></a>My dear friends Amy and Cheryl hosted quite the event, making dozens and dozens of crepe-like pancakes (not those fluffly ones us Bisquick-raised Americans envision) to please the masses, first taking in a few "savoury" and closing up with a couple "sweet".<br />
<br />
Though not quite as provocative as some other culture's celebrations, this quaint indulgence is the perfect exclamation point on all that is decadent in life. I do have to say though, judging on the stuffed restaurants on Valentine's Day Wednesday, there was no stoppage of the over-consumption!!The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-24708085621475335692013-01-29T20:53:00.000+00:002013-01-29T20:58:37.835+00:00Re-FocusHello! Its been some time since I've written a post, so I'm putting up a general update on the life of Sarah these days. Not much different from most the population, I have spent the first few weeks of January recuperating from the holidays, doing a general assessment on the status of life, being healthy, and bracing for the soon-to-be rapid onslaught of 2013.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEfNpsX4UPbnj1QmGazs1jKPNr1_5WF1U-fLxp7grQC1uDpV0p6kS7JI8W2bnXk5dzQci7hjcwER3mpkZ6fPHEiTav6bliq9hoH2tk8kmkVxsY8Z25BwMO0N42E6g2nc3GhrITI_SohRs/s1600/Jan2+027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEfNpsX4UPbnj1QmGazs1jKPNr1_5WF1U-fLxp7grQC1uDpV0p6kS7JI8W2bnXk5dzQci7hjcwER3mpkZ6fPHEiTav6bliq9hoH2tk8kmkVxsY8Z25BwMO0N42E6g2nc3GhrITI_SohRs/s320/Jan2+027.jpg" width="320" /></a>The final months of 2012 were a rip-roarer, consisting of ping pong between work and personal travel, long heavy days of work focus speckled with my personal explorations and aggressive "foodie-ism". Thus, I was definitely ready to check out a bit ... let the frantic pace slow to a drool ... stop telling myself I needed to be doing something.<br />
<br />
<u>Health</u><br />
Once I returned from the States from a lovely X-mas with family and friends (I mean, my little Ri is just the sweetest), I took to the stereotypical resolution planning. I am not one to get real particular about it, but the urge to cleanse is etheral for me. On the typical day I focus on the food I put in my mouth and the thickness of "cold protection" forming on my extremities, but I step it up in January to aid the "post cookie tin" recovery.<br />
<br />
I am back in Bikram yoga twice a week, and running as well. Diet is veg, grain and legume heavy (I mean, I have never loved lentils so much!). Actually made it three days in a row without wine in week one. (ha, ha).<br />
<br />
<u>Work</u><br />
I instituted the pay-it-forward philosophy. I knew that early in the new year organizational and strategic changes meant things were going to go bananas quite soon. So, as a result I had little guilt from taking it easy early in the month (which also helped me keep up the exercise program). Things hit hectic pace about mid-month, but I was rested and on-point to tackle the challenging times. I'm hitting a high at work right now ... it just feels right and its preparing me for the next phase. Drive ... determination ... vision. Look out.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyahHwOKyes5r-Iw53RU-HxQdcBvTYL8JLiUGZRItQyqKS76e52-eMYo4RMAI6VciiZt-7yOjYw3r7b-kwzn51w5x_EW081yE62D8UIu3jjRxk8sPHc0vILmCINAtu9sT9O63HU_gFYPq0/s1600/Jan3+037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyahHwOKyes5r-Iw53RU-HxQdcBvTYL8JLiUGZRItQyqKS76e52-eMYo4RMAI6VciiZt-7yOjYw3r7b-kwzn51w5x_EW081yE62D8UIu3jjRxk8sPHc0vILmCINAtu9sT9O63HU_gFYPq0/s320/Jan3+037.jpg" width="320" /></a><u>Travel</u><br />
Early in the month I didn't even want to ponder travel, as all I wanted to do was hang in lovely London, waking late and enjoying strolls in the afternoon. Though, soon enough life offered up the need to start booking, and inevitably this got me into personal travel planning. Since I moved to London I had a mental goal of one trip a month. So far, that goal has been fulfilled. I'm kind of an over-achiever, so this goal too must go on! Last week it began ... Milan (work), this week Paris (work) and onto Chicago/Florida (love/work), Hamburg, Germany (work), Barcelona (pleasure/work), and Florence, Italy (pleasurable girls' weekend). That gets me through March ... April has another US trip, Paris and Milan (hmmm Venice?) ... May to Mykonos, Greece for a girls trip. Definitely more travel blogs to come in 2013 ... and to think I have yet to plan Champagne, Burgundy, Portugal, and the Amalfi Coast.<br />
<br />
<u>Peace</u><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsAAYg3K64in8in3u2hsWhvSy5he1kfn0qSmIFzyXjMvImUuuz9dnSLr-yruLDprB7vNDPAEWYbMgTAIH8yLCIxNGj5Xyomx3Lq6ra2WZXQldlNAOyf_pmpirMKsplfgiH4WlJG5nYY6x6/s1600/Jan3+027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsAAYg3K64in8in3u2hsWhvSy5he1kfn0qSmIFzyXjMvImUuuz9dnSLr-yruLDprB7vNDPAEWYbMgTAIH8yLCIxNGj5Xyomx3Lq6ra2WZXQldlNAOyf_pmpirMKsplfgiH4WlJG5nYY6x6/s320/Jan3+027.jpg" width="320" /></a>Beyond that, I have put the priority on simply finding peace ... I am a loner of a person and need to have the time in my life to do those things that are important to me ... alone. Browsing the Borough market squeezing the perfect tomato, taking the fishmonger's advice for dinner ... watching the foxes play in my back yard ... a Sunday afternoon stroll in the fresh snowfall ... hanging at the pub for conversations with my neighbours ... hand-crafting jewellery and knit goods ... spending time staring at the flora in my neighbourhood pondering survival in January ... chop, chop, chopping veg to the sounds of my "hot ladies pop" playlist on Spotify ... just laying in bed looking at the ceiling letting the natural thoughts and conclusions flow from one side to the other as the sun rises to remind me to actually get to work and start the action of 2013! Bring on February!The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-78347394557980834062012-12-31T00:15:00.000+00:002012-12-31T12:00:57.030+00:00December 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfkOHSMsq4JKptm9eYB_dpkq4iglFoYgvU8M5yRi_3dwfwMJWOiQ9xffc9sadnVJOwL-Kl1N4Qkso2sqEj3dc3tCGdjJ4lx4TRQMDCm5iGzesJ5KlKmf5R0Tim33m0Y71pnBvF62oJdst/s1600/7136E98D-9FCA-4419-989C-7B8408980ED3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfkOHSMsq4JKptm9eYB_dpkq4iglFoYgvU8M5yRi_3dwfwMJWOiQ9xffc9sadnVJOwL-Kl1N4Qkso2sqEj3dc3tCGdjJ4lx4TRQMDCm5iGzesJ5KlKmf5R0Tim33m0Y71pnBvF62oJdst/s400/7136E98D-9FCA-4419-989C-7B8408980ED3.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
As I set out today to walk up the main street in my neighbourhood to pick up some last minute groceries for the New Year's party, I couldn't help but take notice of all that was green and vibrant around me. I recalled how I had the same sentiment at this time last year ... and the year before. I am sure there is a blog about it if only I had the patience to look it up.<br />
<br />
As a girl from the Midwest U.S. it amazes me that at the end of December, just at the tip of January, new life is springing anew. Perhaps it is a stark contrast since I just recently parted the greyness, where the ground is entering its deep freeze. Yet, as I swept the patio this morning I saw the Magnolia tree was budding and out front the bulbs are already peaking their noses out of the damp soil. As I briskly made my way, each of the luscious greens grabbed at my attention.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSS-6N4DvWXPJTmhGdvbvGXm4GzBJ6pIAuFVhI7KjMbkJFzWvArbDTJQDCRFq6WRORSy80v_L1ggYH5GGplv9iRZvLf_KDE3QGv1ietpGcvHC03hAYfAhwi4hy15fjernQAxVTVIzP9zaS/s1600/5AFB0AEB-5E9A-4B59-A8EE-DBB615713A81.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSS-6N4DvWXPJTmhGdvbvGXm4GzBJ6pIAuFVhI7KjMbkJFzWvArbDTJQDCRFq6WRORSy80v_L1ggYH5GGplv9iRZvLf_KDE3QGv1ietpGcvHC03hAYfAhwi4hy15fjernQAxVTVIzP9zaS/s400/5AFB0AEB-5E9A-4B59-A8EE-DBB615713A81.JPG" width="400" /></a>How slowly London shows its signs of Spring, as these buds will make their way in their own due time, but I couldn't help but be oh so happy that Fall quickly makes it way to Spring here and dream ever so briefly about the daffodils of March.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-80402292930740030012012-12-25T14:40:00.002+00:002012-12-25T14:41:47.885+00:00Parma > Modena > BolognaNot one blog yet in December??? Well, the holiday break will allow me to get caught up in preparation for the new year. This one will focus on a foodie delight trip, when over Thanksgiving I had a business trip to Milan I decided to take advantage of. There is so much to see and do (and eat) in Northern Italy. With its vineyards producing some of the best wine in the world and the land's endless supply of foodie delights, it is one of my favourite places on Earth.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgme1mPJi48rXVucZgBGeHNUMXecVXWbotk5KgWQLMVGzmuxYX1Wf1CpERf940PHtCx3iksOeHzuETyRwd0df3-xci1IBMooqO1CEwu35j7tLNaRYsfFwHNbagzM989WIa7lx1-BODSqsP2/s1600/Sarah1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgme1mPJi48rXVucZgBGeHNUMXecVXWbotk5KgWQLMVGzmuxYX1Wf1CpERf940PHtCx3iksOeHzuETyRwd0df3-xci1IBMooqO1CEwu35j7tLNaRYsfFwHNbagzM989WIa7lx1-BODSqsP2/s320/Sarah1.jpg" width="320" /></a>I planned a series of train rides to visit the food focused towns to the East of Milan, first stopping in Parma (home to Parmesan cheese, as well as the notorious Prosciutto di Parma), then on to Modena (home of Balsamic Vinegar), and then finally to spend the weekend in Bologna (which amongst many other foodie boasts is the birthplace of Mortadella, Tortelloni, and Bolognese sauce). My dear friend Angela met me in Milan and away we went!<br />
<br />
We got to Parma on the evening of Thanksgiving Thursday - we paid a tribute to the American holiday with a plateful of the local prosciutto and pumpkin stuffed tortelloni. As a starter the waiter wheeled over a cart with a giant wheel of Parmesan cheese from which he chipped us off a few chunks. I have arrived! Devine!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgPqUFRMTuhzv8HPw65clPYoy7FwPzaqVQRI5oQF_20GcK1ddgnYDtU-XQVrWTAKCKmjhyphenhyphenqmHFsx4KsgJtDNHdQgwxScG-hU_a8rvl_o1L5F8CxGrsCEIaDOz7vQ6ic3yyWebeB4dOj_LU/s1600/Sarah2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgPqUFRMTuhzv8HPw65clPYoy7FwPzaqVQRI5oQF_20GcK1ddgnYDtU-XQVrWTAKCKmjhyphenhyphenqmHFsx4KsgJtDNHdQgwxScG-hU_a8rvl_o1L5F8CxGrsCEIaDOz7vQ6ic3yyWebeB4dOj_LU/s320/Sarah2.jpg" width="320" /></a>After a stroll around town in the morning admiring the local produce shops and boutiques we hopped the half hour train to Modena. Goal was simple - lunch and to secure a bottle of the local 12 year aged vinegar, the good stuff. Mission accomplished! Lunch of pasta with octopus and a glass of the local lambrusco wine was just as should be had in such a place. The shop where I purchased the vinegar was out of a dream ... the walls of the tiny shop were stacked with oils and panettone, the owners must have been there for decades, and they paper wrapped the bottles I purchased while I admired all the Italian pastries on offer. Smiles from ear to ear! <br />
<br />
One more short train ride to Bologna - the foodie capital of Italy (and that is quite a title). Off the main square is a series of narrow cobblestone streets full of market shops overflowing with salamis, pasta, cheese, seafood, and vegetables. Ahhhh I was in heaven peaking around each and every corner!<br />
<br />
Angela has a couple of cousins living in Bologna, so in turn they took us to delicious restaurants across the old town (known for all its porticos, or covered sidewalks). The first evening's dinner was a bowl of fresh pasta and Bolognese sauce - possibly the best pasta dish I have ever eaten.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWAIT92Kw73-ZP6_ORpRoZxihxhWNHOK8YRjo5eE5GduYhGxPpAAXnCmc8MODBuUC_eOkGKyQ2uEkk-4Q50-PmleFS_LXH1RLyXbBH66E-15XcN63GXtiUK50oiV3dthMI3qPsSEVkc3n/s1600/Sarah3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWAIT92Kw73-ZP6_ORpRoZxihxhWNHOK8YRjo5eE5GduYhGxPpAAXnCmc8MODBuUC_eOkGKyQ2uEkk-4Q50-PmleFS_LXH1RLyXbBH66E-15XcN63GXtiUK50oiV3dthMI3qPsSEVkc3n/s320/Sarah3.jpg" width="320" /></a>After strolling the streets of town on Saturday we went a bit off the beaten path to a small osteria to have a full Italian meal - antipasta, primi (pasta), secondi (meat), and the dolce - and all with local ingredients from the Emilia Romagna region - cheese, vinegar, mortadella, fried torteloni.<br />
<br />
Sunday AM we got an unexpected ride out of town to see a church towering over the region a top the rolling hills - San Luca. There is a portico covered walkway up the hill from the town that has 666 archways, saying that sinners will cleanse their sins as they make their way slowly to the top. After all the we had eatten the past few days we probably should have made the journey! Nah, we went on for one last Italian feast for lunch. What an amazing foodie adventure, made even better with the companionship of a great friend and her family.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://theborboleta.blogspot.com/2012/12/parma-modena-bologna.html" target="_blank">SLIDE SHOW !</a> <br />
<br />
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632257787137%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632257787137%2F&set_id=72157632257787137&jump_to="></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=122138"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=122138" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632257787137%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632257787137%2F&set_id=72157632257787137&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-30257038681573829242012-11-27T21:05:00.000+00:002012-11-27T21:05:10.927+00:00Beaujolais Nouveau<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNilh5p6bWmbENENjqOSGL72KQuKS9LbSLimoZ0yepgisfJrY5EWeoPDs1lRBtHZAfiJdbwxf0-XZ4s96iExh1GEfaqDjUuq4N7dc46gJRZkd4G_vbJ8q4wKgnABxPGQrATZJqmztscgUd/s1600/Paris+031+edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNilh5p6bWmbENENjqOSGL72KQuKS9LbSLimoZ0yepgisfJrY5EWeoPDs1lRBtHZAfiJdbwxf0-XZ4s96iExh1GEfaqDjUuq4N7dc46gJRZkd4G_vbJ8q4wKgnABxPGQrATZJqmztscgUd/s320/Paris+031+edit.jpg" width="320" /></a>Though currently attempting to optimize my in-person wine experiences, the latest was a pure coincidence. In a meeting of the stars, life would have it that a dear friend of mine from Chicago would be visiting Paris in November, near the time when I needed to schedule a business meeting. As we finalized a date, he mentioned how lucky I was to be in France for the "Beaujolais Nouveau". Huh?<br />
<br />
So, the research begins. Beaujolais is a region in France, south of Burgundy and Nouveau stands for "new". Simple enough. This is one of the few red wines they do not age to maturity, letting the juice ferment for just a matter of weeks from harvest until the third Thursday in November when they pop barrels all over France, especially the South, to toast the season's harvest.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyLvDLPG3CczlHSGhOCz4quWKko5fsFaEH3C7t-pKKdJK4fzeUrPw-tgVqxPdvL_BpHgIdR8VH4Oev9WjQdqpPzJy8Oy_6Yci43Lhok3-_HMmO9f9Zxgdl7OXJl-vTYvJGaOdRipDh6mOt/s1600/Paris+018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyLvDLPG3CczlHSGhOCz4quWKko5fsFaEH3C7t-pKKdJK4fzeUrPw-tgVqxPdvL_BpHgIdR8VH4Oev9WjQdqpPzJy8Oy_6Yci43Lhok3-_HMmO9f9Zxgdl7OXJl-vTYvJGaOdRipDh6mOt/s320/Paris+018.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Let me be clear ... this stuff is terrible. Any self-respecting Frenchman raises their nose in horror when you mention you drank the stuff, let alone came into the country just to celebrate it. I kept my comments to a minimum in the meeting the day after. Kind of like saying you love Colt 45.<br />
<br />
Still, I am not a wine snob who limits themselves to only the superb, this is about breadth of knowledge as much as depth. I did some quick searching for events in Paris and found a street party that seemed the best option. On my walk over, I ran across a small wine shop with a huge barrel in the window and decided to pop in. Turns out, they were literally filling the bottles, corking them, and smearing the labels on right there! How exciting! Honestly, it wasn't too bad ... and at 5 Euro, I bought a souvenir bottle.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_B6vVd_nepB7X621S7siKd3tkQR7BjPOW3YlU3cWediiwVUEIk2N7bVlOu4n2bOMaXu9bpPFMDNhyphenhyphenv8_1yWTgnYMQObZCiUVwZ92fMQOCWFgcq0_qlO3xW7RuBBT3Bo4kswD8duRMkcLs/s1600/Paris+011+edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_B6vVd_nepB7X621S7siKd3tkQR7BjPOW3YlU3cWediiwVUEIk2N7bVlOu4n2bOMaXu9bpPFMDNhyphenhyphenv8_1yWTgnYMQObZCiUVwZ92fMQOCWFgcq0_qlO3xW7RuBBT3Bo4kswD8duRMkcLs/s320/Paris+011+edit.jpg" width="320" /></a>Perhaps I was spoiled by that experience. As I walked up, there was a door with possibly a thousand bottles of wine lined up behind. I grabbed one and gave it a shot. My first thought was, "this ... is ... the worst wine I have ever tasted". Eh, I'll give it another try.<br />
<br />
Second try, it was still horrible. So, that experience is complete. However, I still had a weekend in Paris to share in friendly conversation and explore France's culinary adventures, like jellied seafood terrines.The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-70397711774644575782012-11-14T23:00:00.000+00:002012-11-14T23:00:06.411+00:00Royal Copenhagen<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZQtYePw_mtLmsfLLpHt8EU6613g1j4m53kaU5jKaWCtObCMEK3VBJ1GRpleMNx4hqbD5xBLDWyGocV0hwww8NzrJQwlhDDng-VRoDkqYE2feTDxPPt6pdLL0nHnih-bfWk_ZsBbkzXpk/s1600/Copen+040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZQtYePw_mtLmsfLLpHt8EU6613g1j4m53kaU5jKaWCtObCMEK3VBJ1GRpleMNx4hqbD5xBLDWyGocV0hwww8NzrJQwlhDDng-VRoDkqYE2feTDxPPt6pdLL0nHnih-bfWk_ZsBbkzXpk/s320/Copen+040.jpg" width="320" /></a>My Mom has been a collector of the "blue plate" for as long as I can remember (really, I can't remember when all this started). These blue plates are collector's Christmas plates from a company called <a href="https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=royal+copenhagen+christmas+plates&hl=en&prmd=imvns&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=CwakULSCK4i_0QWd_4GwBg&ved=0CAoQ_AUoAQ&biw=1280&bih=905" target="_blank">Royal Copenhagen, out of ... you guessed it</a>!<br />
<br />
The company has issued a plate each year commemorating the holiday, and my Mom and I have spent numerous pleasurable afternoons browsing various locations one might find such a plate ... delighting when we found one, snarling when the price was ridiculous or it was the all too prevalent palm trees (right, you see a lot of those in Denmark).<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91oFL0oa4WcXd7_EDJ4lCRdKMzUFhOcGE5vMJev2G7YhXXtLny38mRn4D42_nPaIwsiS2LDEPOpaQyaAc_Lwjk6XECE9mRUbfDPJZwNssefVBS2NNZHs3a23Hwr3PzUmN-YO9BaRjzR-Y/s1600/Copen+168+b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91oFL0oa4WcXd7_EDJ4lCRdKMzUFhOcGE5vMJev2G7YhXXtLny38mRn4D42_nPaIwsiS2LDEPOpaQyaAc_Lwjk6XECE9mRUbfDPJZwNssefVBS2NNZHs3a23Hwr3PzUmN-YO9BaRjzR-Y/s320/Copen+168+b.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkNtmv8vpp7mCHapdvH38PeweEvTZr80NH9LD1TpUB8aZGPZLo5f-mBUQqHmTMaEZCQOwwWFVIyVnMTKIX2OosGQNKVnNC14NBskSKZiryEb5FuwST4F25nrWMIcV59JfPryhjPbuM2qsy/s1600/Copen+031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkNtmv8vpp7mCHapdvH38PeweEvTZr80NH9LD1TpUB8aZGPZLo5f-mBUQqHmTMaEZCQOwwWFVIyVnMTKIX2OosGQNKVnNC14NBskSKZiryEb5FuwST4F25nrWMIcV59JfPryhjPbuM2qsy/s320/Copen+031.jpg" width="320" /></a>She has completed quite a collection over the years, and as a collector often does, come to the point where only the very special will have the privilege of being added to the collection hung around the soffit of the kitchen.<br />
<br />
Myself, as I consider weekend getaways in the colder months, like to focus on city trips, where you wonder the stone streets, not taking concern of the chill because the crisp in the air and views are so sweet. <br />
<br />
Nordic cities certainly fall into this genre, so I have been keeping my eye on Copenhagen because of its sentimental value, and closeness to the sea and Sweden. I was considering a visit for the Christmas markets, but when I saw "Europe's largest flea market" I was booked in a heartbeat. I decided to do a solo trip ... only Mom could truly have the endurance and enthusiasm to power through this like I wanted.<br />
<br />
I took the after work flight Friday night and had enough time to drop off the bag and go grab the local Christmas beer, Tuborg Julebryg (interesting fact ... their marketing campaign is one of the oldest still utilized today .. cute!). <br />
<br />
However, there was no time for play, as I needed to get off to bed to wake early, grab a coffee and an amazing cinnamon roll and get off to the Loppemarked (Danish for "huge room of amazing vintage goods!")<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmBG0eQq1IXQGW-NorJlMZlClW11-TQrv6EVSPWrjvjkrdK5xRdRH6V8S3kmt1IylRxnJhbi49hjEHuyCuohBjGyXrdlRoJ_Cc_4SKaOIgf443cV3qqoMVn42kb2CvX6Jab2tvPBZTSKk/s1600/Copen+054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmBG0eQq1IXQGW-NorJlMZlClW11-TQrv6EVSPWrjvjkrdK5xRdRH6V8S3kmt1IylRxnJhbi49hjEHuyCuohBjGyXrdlRoJ_Cc_4SKaOIgf443cV3qqoMVn42kb2CvX6Jab2tvPBZTSKk/s320/Copen+054.jpg" width="320" /></a>What can I say ... it was delightfully full of mod Danish furniture and kitchen bits, loaded with Royal Copenhagen, not only blue plates, but figurines and the like. I picked up a few items, including a bag of licorice (and if I would have had the means would have picked up a lot more). After four hours I wearily made my way back onto the Metro into town for the second half of the day exploring the city.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMbGnj1N05WCsJtix7wxC2xXBo5lUuSl7v2AQvTZsVkPnQCcfI_fqZRPkcSCg-bAwYwyhHihSYJsEp8UzynJpvPUH39qsKqWN5q1nBv5QnITRVj6eAbRO-LjXnje6dUeS653P4ELT4h3ha/s1600/Copen+140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMbGnj1N05WCsJtix7wxC2xXBo5lUuSl7v2AQvTZsVkPnQCcfI_fqZRPkcSCg-bAwYwyhHihSYJsEp8UzynJpvPUH39qsKqWN5q1nBv5QnITRVj6eAbRO-LjXnje6dUeS653P4ELT4h3ha/s320/Copen+140.jpg" width="320" /></a>I went for a light lunch of Smorgasbord ... my first round of pickled herring, which given my DNA is a delight. By that time it was already dark (like 4P) so I wondered the cobbled streets looking at shops, listening to street musicians, and passing by the mecca Royal Copenhagen flagship store. {Don't worry Mom, noooothing to be seen there). Did you know legos were invented in Denmark? They were.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4CkSh_OSip0AJqhwg_sufj3z5Rn2Q-DAdBYkGafqAfPc9mxcYMNQZkAx1c2umHhteJ8YrNYtDEICqnpCxdyMR5chRFCNruB7k13-wUYyGPudJD9wwx_qoblicF1P_DSIV07RNA5GJBe53/s1600/Copen+151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4CkSh_OSip0AJqhwg_sufj3z5Rn2Q-DAdBYkGafqAfPc9mxcYMNQZkAx1c2umHhteJ8YrNYtDEICqnpCxdyMR5chRFCNruB7k13-wUYyGPudJD9wwx_qoblicF1P_DSIV07RNA5GJBe53/s320/Copen+151.jpg" width="320" /></a>Went back to the hotel to get purty for my fancy dinner (which you can read about<a href="http://theborboleta.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/aoc-and-solo-dining.html" target="_blank"> here</a>), stopped to see some bad 80s music after , and then to bed again for Sunday was another big day! Up early again to grab the canal boat tour for an hour before heading off on the metro again to see the food market and eat everything in sight!<br />
<br />
I know I am all about food, pretty much all the time, but they had their herring served on the seagull plates from Royal Copenhagen. Awwww! And huge chunks of Danish blue cheese ... yeah, that came home with me along with a gorgeous piece of smoked salmon covered in dill. And don't get me started about the sweet rolls with cardamom ...<br />
<br />
Copenhagen is a beautiful little harbour city, where you can still see the life of old salty fisherman, yet experience the surge they had in the 70s specifically around architecture and design. When I go up north I feel a sense of identity ... people are kind, clean, eat healthy appreciate nature ... and are punctual!! My flight boarded early both times on Scandinavia airlines! <br />
<br />
<< Slideshow >><br />
<br />
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632012848842%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632012848842%2F&set_id=72157632012848842&jump_to="></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=122138"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=122138" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632012848842%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157632012848842%2F&set_id=72157632012848842&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-7618702331074557162012-11-12T11:46:00.000+00:002012-11-12T17:10:42.338+00:00AOC and Solo Dining<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqK9mhpo7aSGRz67lvHUC0hfADoNAjXuhGpS6yXAJ_cAZZ9uT5tJ20ushdz9vqgVZKhBukruMIthqU1luOaT6xv9FAVMMgOgVAC0ZpGfbCbi7uDlgMWZZJik43celTgQTMCDHfh1A6ld_/s1600/Copen+068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqK9mhpo7aSGRz67lvHUC0hfADoNAjXuhGpS6yXAJ_cAZZ9uT5tJ20ushdz9vqgVZKhBukruMIthqU1luOaT6xv9FAVMMgOgVAC0ZpGfbCbi7uDlgMWZZJik43celTgQTMCDHfh1A6ld_/s320/Copen+068.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Noma restaurant, Copenhagen has been voted the best restaurant in the world the last three years. As soon as I knew I was heading to the city for Europe's largest flea market I started writing emails and attempting to secure a booking. Crickets. Copenhagen has no shortage of Michelin-rated joints, so after a bit more research I opted to spend my evening of culinary delight at AOC.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Like Noma they are also known for utilising only local, in season ingredients (i.e. foraging the nearby forests for juniper berries and thyme) and serving them with visually stunning presentation. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The menu is seven courses with a wine pairing at each course (!!!!). </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The food and wine on their winter menu were out of this world, but this is also designed to be "an experience". </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9KItejoNfMoixcVIy8DeW_EFL5yVwc1NrFgu79iNXAAA1Zshtkj9Rwszmr-J44ElPN1xJD0TKkxF8fsNF8hEv9IDgHrFzxdLUvOVvHe0NFmRE2b5wLurqI8aLGt-GU9Z3HzZWZT2bVxwP/s1600/Copen+063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9KItejoNfMoixcVIy8DeW_EFL5yVwc1NrFgu79iNXAAA1Zshtkj9Rwszmr-J44ElPN1xJD0TKkxF8fsNF8hEv9IDgHrFzxdLUvOVvHe0NFmRE2b5wLurqI8aLGt-GU9Z3HzZWZT2bVxwP/s320/Copen+063.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Here's a little on how mine went, as a solo diner at a Michelin star restaurant:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Soul is smiling big, anticipation is bubbling. I'm looking around the simple creamy room to take in every detail - in fact what I notice is absence of detail - only candles on the white table clothes and mod Danish lighting and serving trays. It is located in the lower level of a restored historic building, so the archway details make the room.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I notice everyone is looking at me, trying to figure out who I am - feeling both a little sad for me and at the same time overly intrigued to meet me. I suppose it must be odd for an extremely beautiful woman to dine alone at their place (:-)); I imagine they think I must be somewhere between royalty, movie star, and acclaimed food critic. Let them wonder.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Da da da ... Time passes and the servers begin to whisk out a precise series of five starters that come before the meal accompanied by the crispest, fluffiest champagne ever. Each is a single mouthful - little jerky served on a twig, some other crunchy bit, tartar, pistachio cream filled milkskin (?), duck fat broth (eek).</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKz5slbUvtUrX-hrwUxQIeYihU4ygA5J4Dq6ZnOIWEktnd27wKFosopelo2oGXIcjtuEPsrhQa2mpudMJiQ2LFhWfzkKg7xC_eCt1OHl9MPsQmv7sEZESFwYXGNjXSMOnGddZlyWFEBjwa/s1600/Copen+062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKz5slbUvtUrX-hrwUxQIeYihU4ygA5J4Dq6ZnOIWEktnd27wKFosopelo2oGXIcjtuEPsrhQa2mpudMJiQ2LFhWfzkKg7xC_eCt1OHl9MPsQmv7sEZESFwYXGNjXSMOnGddZlyWFEBjwa/s320/Copen+062.jpg" width="239" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">As you do, I listen to other people's low chatter and my own thoughts intermingle with theirs. Heard a girl say "Cuba". I want to go to Cuba, but I want to have long hair and a base tan and, well, be 26. I saw that flight out of Tampa to Havana. Did they change the travel restriction?</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Who comes to places like this? Well I guess now I do. I think I like this crowd (well except that girl in the grape satin dress and string of pearls that keeps saying "like"). Sophisticated but not snooty, money but not showing off, taking pictures of every plate like me. I see a Dad and his smart, you-raised-her-well daughter, a couple so comfortable they must be on their 50th visit, two Arabic men doing business, a younger couple more in my genre of "wow can't believe we're here, what is that?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Most surprising thing for some reason is that every plate was delicious, and that I didn't leave hungry. I tasted each and every herb leaf (lemon verbena!), the brisket was as tender as I've ever had. I wont go into the detail of every plate, but the skate dish with caviar was the prettiest dish I've seen plated.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-aMyGzx6NNEf8To97tubLUtrieg9qtceamsp0Uoxn2fU_AfvInTlya8HZzLMVzRaRdV-k-wxjLk-AhSe59wzTwOYC5tab6k9Ip_VTKibuVXxLMD_dnSV6cWhWSKYRATimrJl6oKKYP6O/s1600/Copen+069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-aMyGzx6NNEf8To97tubLUtrieg9qtceamsp0Uoxn2fU_AfvInTlya8HZzLMVzRaRdV-k-wxjLk-AhSe59wzTwOYC5tab6k9Ip_VTKibuVXxLMD_dnSV6cWhWSKYRATimrJl6oKKYP6O/s320/Copen+069.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was served by the owner and sommelier himself (a move done I'm sure just in case I was the head writer for Food & Wine). Ballsy wine list. For me the wine pairing was as much as a treat as the food. A tangy Austrian white and the reds were all out of this world, strong, berry heavy, exactly my taste - Russian River valley Pinot (served with a truffled Jerusalem artichoke I will soon be attempting to replicate), a couple Frenchies to go with the brisket and duck plates, and closed with a Danish cherry wine served with juniper ice cream. Ta dah!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">The owner was really young. By "really" I mean, younger than me, wise beyond his years. I know a bit about wine, but this dude has 100 vintages of champaign on his menu (and I mean bubbly from the exact boundaries of the region) not just a long list of anything white with bubbles in it. His depth of knowledge and experience seemed beyond his years.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I did decide to offer my feedback on his greatness, and also my constructive criticism that his cloudy, organic white wasn't my taste. When he said it paired well with yoghurt and cabbage my confidence was reinforced.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">I heard that day that 60% of Americans are one pay check away from poverty (this glutinous meal could have fed someone for months). I'm not really sure who I am right now. I mean, I know me, but I am growing and changing and I'm letting my limits have no bound for a while. We as humans (at least some of us) have a bad practice of looking at others we envy and thinking lucky for them, or subconsciously that we're not worthy, that life is for someone else, that we have to stay within some sort of pre-defined boundary. Fuey. You are who you make yourself to be. Despite others' raised eyebrows, I was exactly where I was meant to be that night and I walked out feeling somewhere between royalty, movie starlet, and acclaimed food critic.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3165553139448823074.post-79783930541737627832012-11-04T12:39:00.000+00:002012-11-04T12:39:46.508+00:00Dia de Los Muertos - Rodrigo y Gabriela<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCB1uUGNJP0JypbvcRH2hv0OCSTEh1wcs7DiUuLjVbjqb4iB7YR59WV0miBKx-DNmq7KiG25NLNjLolCSyU1duusF1egrNyoetdE46LoA81Al5XozMf5gAWAVkBTHdMrQyBRz6lBTVnmsW/s1600/diadelosmurtos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCB1uUGNJP0JypbvcRH2hv0OCSTEh1wcs7DiUuLjVbjqb4iB7YR59WV0miBKx-DNmq7KiG25NLNjLolCSyU1duusF1egrNyoetdE46LoA81Al5XozMf5gAWAVkBTHdMrQyBRz6lBTVnmsW/s200/diadelosmurtos.jpg" width="149" /></a>Wikipedia: <i><b style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">Day of the Dead</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"> (</span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spanish_language" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px; text-decoration: none;" title="Spanish language">Spanish</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">: </span><span lang="es" style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;" xml:lang="es">Día de los Muertos</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">) is a </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mexican_people" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px; text-decoration: none;" title="Mexican people">Mexican</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"> holiday celebrated throughout Mexico and around the world. The holiday focuses on gatherings of family and friends to pray for and remember friends and family members who have died. The celebration takes place on November 1 and 2, in connection with the </span><a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Catholic_Church" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px; text-decoration: none;" title="Roman Catholic Church">Catholic</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"> holidays of </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_Saints%27_Day" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px; text-decoration: none;" title="All Saints' Day">All Saints' Day</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"> and </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_Souls%27_Day" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px; text-decoration: none;" title="All Souls' Day">All Souls' Day</a><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">. Traditions connected with the holiday include building private altars honouring the deceased using </span></span></span><a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sugar_skull" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px; text-decoration: none;" title="Sugar skull">sugar skulls</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">, </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tagetes_erecta" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px; text-decoration: none;" title="Tagetes erecta">marigolds</a><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">, and the favourite foods and beverages of the departed and visiting graves with these as gifts. They also leave possessions of the deceased.</span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">I have always enjoyed the artistic creations associated with this celebration, so colourful and detailed, joyous yet sad. It is this day of remembrance that is root of America's Halloween ... which derived from Hallow's Eve, the night before All Souls' Day.</span></span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcozy7MlcqIrNkH1Dzzpp96hc2JPKb-nZhNE4bbzYy-aoRkW5cjfVdxH85hHwuouM7g4h0BQi29k4scBA90FG1DpN9jCT56jG2jTIPw_ZzLareTQV5w0r_uAGHWH3PlzZcSN6Zc2W88IfW/s1600/Oct4+027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcozy7MlcqIrNkH1Dzzpp96hc2JPKb-nZhNE4bbzYy-aoRkW5cjfVdxH85hHwuouM7g4h0BQi29k4scBA90FG1DpN9jCT56jG2jTIPw_ZzLareTQV5w0r_uAGHWH3PlzZcSN6Zc2W88IfW/s320/Oct4+027.jpg" width="239" /></a><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">A friend of mine posted a celebration in London's Old Vic Tunnels hosted by one of the city's Mexican foodies and headlining the Mexican guitar duo Rodrigo y Gabriela ... all factors made this a sure win. I decided this would be my "Halloween" celebration this year, and set out to plan a traditional Dia de los Muertos costume for the event. Makeup, dried roses, and some fabric, trim, and lace to make a skirt.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">The Old Vic Tunnels are a very cool venue, underneath the current Waterloo train station, consisting of a series of cavernous, damp brick train tunnels that you arrive at by walking down a long graffiti covered tube. The hosts decked it out with various haunting art installations, performing artists, creepy silent movies, and thousands of candles.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">Complimentary gauc and tacos came with the deal, and they were serving up Jasmine Margaritas. Everything was top notch. It was quite a hoot to be all decked out in dress, and people responding quite nice to our costumes!</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">I have loved Rodrigo (and I guess his lovely partner as well) for quite a while, and it was exciting to see them play in such a great scene. I have included a video typical of their music, as well as a slideshow with some pics! </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">A great memory was made ...</span><br />
<br />
<object height="300" width="400"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157631924776931%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157631924776931%2F&set_id=72157631924776931&jump_to="></param>
<param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=122138"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=122138" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157631924776931%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F26634587%40N07%2Fsets%2F72157631924776931%2F&set_id=72157631924776931&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/l-qgum7hFXk" width="420"></iframe>
The Borboletahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18223042977744555320noreply@blogger.com0