Studio Josie

Daydreams of Venice

The Grand Canal from the Rialto Bridge. March 2022.

It’s been almost a year since I visited Venice, and I can’t get it off my mind.

So much so that I’ve been scouring the Internet for train tickets and places to stay all week. In between schoolwork, I’ve been slowly planning a trip to return during the weekend of my 21st birthday in April, and I can’t wait.

I thought I’d write a bit of a piece about the single day I spent in Venice last March with a couple of my friends from university, since I never shared anything about it here. It was one of the greatest and most memorable days of my life — and it was the first time I felt the “love at first sight” feeling for a place.

Before I begin, I’d like to credit pretty much all of my knowledge of Venetian culture, life, and history to my friend and roommate, Sabi. She is one of the most passionate people I know, and her knowledge, and pride for Veneto as an Italian region is surely one of the reasons why I loved Venice so much. She showed us around, fed us the best food, and she patiently let us all take in one of the most magical places on Earth — and I will be forever grateful! Andiamo…

If I told you I was completely sober on this day, I’d simply be lying to you.

In Venice, they say, you must do as the Venetians do — and the Venetians drink. This I quickly learned, as we ordered our first glasses of wine at 11 in the morning.

We’d just taken a bus ride from Lido di Jesolo, where we were staying, and were hungry for some cicchetti, small bites and snacks that are an important part of Venetian cuisine. We found a bacaro, a Venetian wine bar, pretty shortly after exiting the bus, and ordered some small bites: fried eggplant and zucchini flowers, fried seafood, and small sandwiches of various sliced meat.

“Do you want a drink?” Sabi yelled from across the bar. It was empty, except for our group of six. She had just ordered cicchetti, and the waiter must have asked her for our drink order.

This is what brunch looks like in Venice.

And so, along with our food came six glasses of white wine. Though in Venice, a glass of wine is called an ombra, which is the Italian word for shadow.

According to Venetian legend, when wine was served in Piazza San Marco — the city’s most famous piazza — wine vendors would use shadows of the bell tower to keep the wine cool. Overtime, ombra became the word Venetians used as they’d gather in the square, drinking ombre underneath the ombra.

Needless to say, we started the day on a good note.

We stumbled and wandered and got lost in the maze that is Venezia. We had nowhere to be, so we just explored.

It’s weird, because Venice is one of those places everyone sees photos of, over and over and over again. I thought I’d be unimpressed, having liked and saved my fair share of Venice canal photos on Pinterest over the years. But I was anything but unimpressed — it is far more special than I could have imagined.

Gorgeous, typical Venetian sweets from the window of a *pasticceria.*

We’d been walking for over an hour, and there was no end in sight, seeing as walking is the most efficient way to get around the city.

Sabi, being the resident tour guide, took us to a true local gem: Cantina Do Mori. It’s an incredible wine bar that’s been around since 1462 — the oldest bacaro in Venice.

The interior is slightly dark and cavelike, and the ceiling is lined with copper kettles. It’s “standing room only,” so locals and tourists drink wine and munch on the famous cicchetti while standing at the bar or around the few tables in the back.

Some of the legendary cicchetti at Cantina Do Mori

It was lunchtime, so we ordered some small bites and, of course, some wine to go with it. We stood at the bar, and despite the slightly busy atmosphere, I had never been more relaxed: this place was oddly comforting. I could feel the passion for food and drink in the air, and I’d never experienced anything quite like it.

I’m normally a vino rosso type of gal, but I had some of the best vino bianco on this day.

Paired with it was a selection of snacks, including a francobollo, the Italian word for stamp, due to its tiny, stamp-like look. This is what the bar calls these tramezzini-type sandwiches, and they’re filled with sliced meats and vegetables and cheeses.

Other cicchetti included baccalà mantecato, cod with garlic & parsley & oil on toasted bread, and capo di toro — yup, I had my first taste of tongue.

And then, minutes later, I had my very first taste of octopus.

A mini octopus, seconds before I tried a bite.

The wine helped, for sure. But also, I’d never seen half of these foods before, and I had no idea what most of them were. I didn’t know if I’d ever get a chance to come back here, so I put on my bravery badge, scratched the vegetarian title, and Anthony Bourdain-ed it.

It was pretty good, too! I’ve had octopus a few more times since then, and I am happy to report that I like it. I prefer it cooked, but… I like it.

(Now someone keep me from reading this book, which has been on my to-read list for a while. I know that once I do, I’ll likely never eat another one again.)

Five gelatos later (six total — I’m not that crazy), we stopped at another bar for, yup, another drink. This time, a spritz.

The spritz is everywhere these days. On my first trip to Prague last September, the entire escalator down to the metro was lined with ads for Aperol. And yet, apparently, it is nowhere to be found, back in the states!

In Venice, though, the spitz is around every corner — it’s a Veneto creation!

It was invented in the 1800s, when Italian regions Lombardia and Veneto were combined and ruled by the Austrian Empire. Austrian diplomats, merchants, and workers weren’t used to the strength of the Veneto wine (which is some of the best) — so they began to water it down.

Eventually, they graduated to carbonated water, and the spritz (spritzen meaning “splash” in German) became more of what it is today.

It wasn’t until 1920, though, that the Spritz Veneziano was born, after Select, a bitter, was invented and added to the drink. So, the real Spritz is not made with Aperol, but with Select… but it’s still just as delicious, if not more so.

So we drank our Spritzes at a little tiny bar outside of Bacaro Risorto Castello, sitting on the crooked bar stools alongside the busy Campo S. Provolo. They even had a bathroom we could use — a rarity in Venice. It was a good day.

It was the end of March then, so the sunset felt never-ending until we sat down and watched it quickly lower itslf, touching the lagoon at lightning speed.

One of my favorite memories from this day was just this — la dolce far niente. We had been walking all day, and our legs were tired, so we sat along the lagoon underneath the setting sun.

As we watched water taxis speed by, creating tiny waves, more and more people started to sit along the lagoon. Groups of friends, couples, locals, and tourists — everyone, in the same place, for the same purpose: to soak in the last moments of sun.

As we watched the sunset, we ate ice cream from Gelateria Nico, ordering the legendary “Gianduiotto” — a square of gianduja ice cream (chocolate/hazlenut) with a heaping spoonful of homemade whipped cream. Another great food recommendation courtesy of Sabi, and one of the best things we ate that day. (Plus, check out the amazing typography on the cups!)

We talked and laughed and licked ice cream from our lips for what felt like forever. I remember looking at the sun every few minutes, noticing how quickly it was setting all of a sudden. Pretty soon, it was gone completely: the only light left came from the streetlights behind us.

We stayed for another two hours or so, wandering the streets at dusk and admiring the city from a new angle, free of sunlight.

Before catching the traghetto (water taxi) back to the mainland, we ate a quick pizza dinner at a pretty shitty touristy restaurant. It was what was nearby, and we just needed something in our stomachs to survive until the next morning.

A mediocre meal often puts a damper on my day, as it should… but that day, all I could think about was how happy I was. Call me dramatic, but I remember thinking to myself, on multiple occasions: If today was my last day on Earth, I would be completely satisfied.

There were not-so-amazing parts and there were parts I guess I would eliminate, but that’s how life always is, and I’d want my last day to be a perfect representation of life. This day was just that: food, friends, travel, color, & sunshine. It’s all I need, and it’s all I crave — every single day.

Alla prossima, Venezia!

The Summer of Joz & Jord: Part Two

Regular readers of my blog may remember my post from last year, titled The Summer of Joz & Jord. In it, I shared photos and small stories from the summer of 2021 which I spent primarily with my best friend Jordyn. We created a bucket list at the start and tried to complete as much as possible, documenting it all on two disposable cameras. While we missed plenty of things, we were positive that we could redeem ourselves during the summer of 2022.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t quite the case. A few weeks into the season, Jordyn started a new job in which he worked pretty much double what I worked this summer. Our schedules were hard to align, so we only saw each other about once a week, if that. It was sad, for sure, when we realized that no summer will likely ever be as carefree and open as the one last year. But we made it work, and each day we did spend together was that much more fun. We filled up two disposable cameras to document our small bucket list achievements, so today, I’m excited to share photographs from The Summer of Joz & Jord, Part II:

Our first summer adventure was a trip to Warwick, Rhode Island, to eat lobster rolls & clam chowder & Del’s Lemonade at Iggy’s. We discovered Iggy’s accidentally, and now it’s become a necessary spot when we’re both home and in need of a classic New England meal. This time, we took a long walk on the semi-beach that sits behind the restaurant, hunting for cool shells and rocks.

We both decided we needed to make more money this summer. We wanted to do something that could work around our schedules and that was flexible and fun, so we decided to create a pseudo landscaping company called Joz & Jord Landscaping Co, as we both enjoy doing yard work (Jord a bit more than me).

We had approximately one job this summer because we both got too busy to work with any of our clients (which consisted solely of family members). Perhaps next summer we’ll continue our small business. Until then, we’ll spend our free days taking photos in front of flowers, pretending to do research for our company.

Now it wouldn’t be The Summer of Joz & Jord without a trip to the strawberry patch. We didn’t pick nearly as many as last year, but I gathered enough to make a strawberry rhubarb pie.

We were slightly surprised at how many people were at the patch that afternoon and had to limit the amount of jokes we made, as there were far too many children around. But on the plus side, Jordyn’s car smelled like strawberries the entire way home.

Halfway through the summer, Jordyn had a big summer party and all of his friends from college drove to our town to attend. I’d never met any of them in person and was very excited to finally put faces to names and to speak to some I’d been having Facetime interactions with since 2020.

This one is of me, Jord, and his friend Emily.

You will soon witness the insane amount of ice cream we ate this summer. This photo is the first of many.

In addition to ice cream, Jord & I are both Panera-obsessed and make it a point to visit at least once every season that we’re in the same place. Here I am mimicking the Mother Bread logo in the back with an invisible loaf.

We had to recreate the iconic awkward photo of Jord holding a bag of popcorn at the movie theater.

I think this was the only movie we saw together this summer, which is quite sad… because it was the Minions movie.

But it was still a fun time. This one was taken once everyone left the theater. It probably wasn’t necessary to wait as we likely drew attention to ourselves over the course of the whole movie anyway.

After the movie, we went to Crumbl cookies which we realized had just opened up in the same plaza as the movie theater. We’d known about it only from Tiktok and decided we had to try them after the movie finished. They definitely weren’t worth 17 dollars, but they were pretty good. The maple was my favorite (obviously).

More ice cream. I love the one I took of Jord, in front of the porta potty.

Later in the summer, we went to visit my mom’s house in Vermont. It was Jordyn’s first time in Vermont, and it was our first long road trip together, too. It was one of my favorite memories of the summer, and I hope he gets to visit VT with me again this winter.

Jordyn & Roscoe, best of friends.

Jord and his very first maple creemie, the famous Vermont soft serve. With chocolate sprinkles, of course. I would kill for one right now!

The one client I mentioned earlier when I introduced the Joz & Jord Landscaping Co. was my mom & stepdad. We worked for, like… one hour? Two hours? I don’t really remember. But we weeded and raked and cleared out a large chunk of their garden while listening to our faves: Tame Impala, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, etc., etc.

A wonderfully crooked & incredibly awkward photograph for our landscaping business.

Stopping for gas on our way back to Connecticut. The four hour car ride consisted of non-stop chatting, and I will never forget it. Jord is one of those people I can talk to for hours on end about serious things and stupid things that induce endless belly laughs alike. I’m so happy one of our last hangouts ended in such a special way.

Alas, two selfies to mark the end of the Summer of Joz & Jord, Part II.

There are plenty more photos where these came from, but I thought I’d share just a few of my favorites today. This summer was the first summer I felt like a real adult, cause I had to pre-schedule pretty much every single get-together with my friends. Spontaneity is something I never thought I’d miss so much.

But even though I felt like a real adult for most of the summer, Jord was the one to get me out of that mindset, cause he always makes me feel like a kid. I’ve known him for so long now, and while he’s certainly matured, his spirit has never changed. He knows just how to brighten up my day, whether it be with random ABBA outbursts or reminders of old-but-timeless inside jokes.

If you’re reading this, I’m so grateful for your friendship, Jord, and I can’t wait to see you in December for The Winter of Joz & Jord.

xoxo, Joz

A welcoming walk

I arrived in Rome early this week after a whole summer spent in New England. I had been itching to go back to Rome for a while; moving back home after being on my own for months was certainly not the easiest thing.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m glad I was able to go home, since next summer will likely be filled with internships, more work, and other opportunities amongst my friends. The one thing they don’t usually mention about growing up is how much it sucks not regularly seeing the people you’re so used to seeing every day, so I try not to take it for granted anymore — even though it isn’t what it used to be, and likely never will be again.

Suckiness aside, though: I’m so happy to be back in Italy. So much has happened since the last time I was here, yet it feels like I never left. Being in the same apartment definitely has something to do with that, but even after my walk around the city today, it feels like nothing has changed but the weather. It’s funny, cause when I go back home, I hate the fact that nothing has changed. Here, for some reason, it’s quite comforting.

I woke up around 9:30 but actually got out of bed around 10:30. (I thought I’d “beat” jet-lag this time around, but I’m writing this at 1 a.m. and feel more awake than I’ve felt all day.) I have not had a true moment alone in over two weeks, and I think I’ve been slowly dying because of that. On the plane, all I could think about was how excited I was to go on a walk to all my favorite places in the city, by myself, with no one to entertain or talk to or follow. I could turn around and go to that store if I wanted to, or stay a little extra longer at the bar, or get an ice cream before eating lunch. To me, solo travel and exploration is the epitome of freedom.

This morning, though, once I finally had the opportunity to go out alone, I completely froze. I did everything I could to avoid leaving the apartment. I began to worry I might have forgotten all of my Italian, and that I wouldn’t be able to communicate how I used to. I began to worry that I wouldn’t wear the right outfit in this 90-degree heat. I began to worry that I’d forget how to get to my favorite places, and that I’d lost everything I’d learned here. But after an hour of procrastination in the form of outfit changes and random chores, I walked down four flights of stairs and entered the Eternal City.

My first stop was at one of the bars in my neighborhood. I went in with the intention of having a coffee but instead ordered an iced tea, because after walking less than a quarter of a mile, I was already drenched in sweat. I drank the tea and ate a small but delicious pastry — some sweet, square-shaped cornetto with pecans on top. I paid for it and began walking towards the center of the city, purposely choosing the paths that were shaded by apartment buildings to avoid the sun as much as I could.

I wanted to get a few things for my bedroom, so I went to Flying Tiger, which is basically like a European version of 5 Below, except everything is 10x cuter and there are various things that are more than 5 euros. I bought two small picture frames, a mirror, and a mini USB fan for my desk.

After that, I stopped in La Feltrinelli, an Italian bookstore chain. I walked in with no intention of buying any books, since I spent almost 30 dollars on books at the Book Barn back in Connecticut just the week before. Instead, my intention was to get a break from the heat since it was air conditioned. I also wanted to check out the upstairs cafe that I’d heard about last semester but never visited.

In the cafe, there were people doing work on computers and people reading books. You don’t see that much here; eating and working do not really mix in Italy. It was comforting, though, since it’s so common back home to do work in cafes and coffee shops. I decided that I’d definitely come back to work on homework once I actually have homework to do next week.

I scanned the menu of drinks and random food items and immediately noticed that they had caffe’ shakerato, which is like a coffee cocktail without the alcohol. They mix espresso and ice and sugar and it becomes all foamy and sweet. They even filled the bottom with some chocolate sauce, and I drank every last drop. It’s a summertime drink here, and I didn’t know it existed until I saw photos of it on Instagram immediately after I left Rome in May. It was delicious, and I’m surely going to be ordering them for as long as I can.

The woman who made it was so sweet, and she made me realize that everyone I had interacted with thus far had been extremely kind. I talk about this a lot with my friends, how Americans are often seen as super nice and helpful (especially in retail-related positions), but a lot of it comes off as artificial. Normally, in Italy, I notice how it is very different in that way: no cashier will ever ask you how you are. But some will call you tesoro, and wish you a buona giornata. Some will even use formal pronouns, responding to grazie with a lei. There’s no need for unnecessary small-talk — to me, that is what creates the synthetic feeling. I’d been surrounded by much of that all summer, which is why I especially noticed the kindness today. Italians can be cold at times, so when they are not, it feels 10x more special.

After the bookstore, I had to make a stop at Piazza Navona, just down the street. It is my favorite piazza in all of Rome, and I have so many memories here. The very first time I visited Rome, in 2019, I remember admiring the great big Bernini fountain in the center. I took so many up-close photographs of it, and every time I’d look at pictures from that trip, I’d sigh in hopes that I could return.

When I did return last summer, long-term, my first real solo trip outside of the apartment was to Piazza Navona. Being back felt full-circle then, and it felt full-circle today, too. Since then, I’ve taken visitors there, I’ve celebrated my birthday there, and I’ve silently weeped there on various occasions, because I am extremely dramatic. From now on, my life may be measured in trips to Piazza Navona.

This time was lovely as always, but it was more crowded than ever. I dodged so many tour groups, avoided so many people trying to sell fans and umbrellas, and I walked through it a little faster than usual, since the entire 270 meter-long square is not shaded in the least.

The end goal of today’s walk was to buy shampoo, because I made a horrible mistake and accidentally bought body wash and conditioner instead of shampoo and conditioner (I am flipping off Trader Joe’s for packaging them in the same exact bottle). My hair is a pain in the ass, and it always has a hard time adjusting to the water and the climate here. Last semester, I found a decent shampoo at Naturasi, which is a natural food store I like to call the Italian version of Whole Foods. I went to the one near Campo de’ Fiori, enjoying even more A.C., and bought some shampoo and a bouquet of lavender to decorate my room.

When I left, I decided I’d better get home since my bag was getting a bit heavy. I wanted to get a vase, though, since we didn’t really have any suitable ones in the apartment. I walked by Lela Casa, a small boutique of beautifully curated home goods right near Ponte Sisto. I have walked by this shop probably 50 times, if not more: this is a regular route I take when going to the center of the city. But every time I walk by, I have a reason not to go inside: it’s too expensive, I’m with someone who will not want to go, or I simply do not have the time.

Today, though, it felt like a sign from the universe to go inside. And I’m so glad I did.

The shop’s owner greeted me as she ran in and out, unpacking a delivery that was left on the street. She was the sweetest person I’d interacted with all day, assuring me that she’d come back inside if I needed help or if I was finished. I browsed the dainty linens and colored glassware for a while, eventually picking out a small glass vase for my lavender. After telling her I had finished, she responded with arrivo! and quickly made her way behind the counter. She asked if it was a gift or for myself, and I understood the question, but for some reason it took me longer than usual to figure out a response. Once I told her it was for me, she asked, smiling, if I was Italian.

As I continue to learn Italian, I have found that there is always a “drop-off” moment, where the other person will say something that catches me off guard and makes me think a little more than usual to respond. These moments usually follow with the native speaker asking if I am Italian, which sometimes leads to them switching to English. This time, though, she complimented me, speaking only her language the entire time, and telling me I had great pronunciation. I told her that I was still learning, and she reassured me that I was doing a good job as she wrapped up my vase.

It’s so strange, because at Tiger earlier in the day, I was contemplating buying one of their cheap, two euro vases because I had planned to get some sort of floral decoration. Something in me told me not to, and I know that if I had, I wouldn’t have had this interaction that made my entire day. I was so nervous to go out, mostly because of the language barrier, but today put me at ease and reminded me so much about why I love living here.

(And from now on, that shop is where I’ll go when I need a confidence boost.)

I walked around a bit after that, eventually heading back home but making sure to stop at Fatamorgana for the very best gelato in Rome. I had a cone of strawberry and apricot, topped with the best whipped cream, and I ate it in Piazza San Cosimato on a bench in the shade.

It was delicious, and it was the best lunch I’d had in a while.

When I got home, I framed some photos and placed the lavender into my new vase while sitting in front of the mini fan at my desk. I planned out the rest of my day, took a shower, ate some mozzarella, and got some work done. School starts next week, and I’m very excited to get back into a routine — but I gotta say, after today, il dolce far niente is my favorite way to live life.

Free Man in Paris: Part Three

Every day in Paris started with a slight headache.

Those headaches you get when you know you’ve slept too much.

Perhaps it was the incessant cloudiness that made my head hurt. It might have been the fact that I was sleeping in a hostel bed, listening to people attempting to stay quiet as they packed their suitcases at 5 a.m. Or maybe it was me being in my head so much that did it. Whatever it was, it remained — but it quickly faded each day once I got up and out of bed.

This day was one of my favorites, so I decided to start it in one of my favorite ways: with a movie.

I found a showing of Wes Anderson’s long-awaited film, The French Dispatch (hence this post’s opening song), at a movie theater just a couple of stops away by metro. I am a huge Wes Anderson fan, and since this movie took place in France, I knew that I just had to see it while I was in Paris.

I also hadn’t been to a movie theater outside of the USA before, and boy, is it different! By different, I mean small and simple and quaint. No bright-blue Slush Puppies and Butterfinger Bites in sight. My popcorn even tasted healthy.

An awkward self-timer photo I took in the hostel before my embark into the city. I rewore two pairs of clothes for five days, but I still felt like I overpacked.

I got to the theater quite early, so I stopped at a little bar down the street for a cappuccino & a croissant. It was not as good as the cappuccini I drink every day in Rome, but this was to be expected. I did enjoy it standing up, however: Breakfast at Tiffany’s style.

The theater was small, and I was the first one in. It filled up pretty quickly after about ten minutes, and pretty soon I was irritated by the amount of people beside me.

Shortly into the film, I remember realizing that I was not paying attention. I was biting all my nails off, likely looking very visibly anxious. I quickly grew sick of my popcorn, which had been my lunch that day, and wished that I had gotten something more substantial. I tried to snap back into it, paying extra close attention to Wes Anderson’s brilliant use of color and minute detail, but still, I had a hard time focusing on the stories, thinking about everything in the world that was not The French Dispatch.

Once the movie finished, I’d already known exactly what I was going to do next, since I’d been planning from the moment it had started. Alas, if you’re wondering what I thought of the movie, my thoughts probably aren’t the most meaningful. I do remember that my favorite chapter was The Concrete Masterpiece. But I also remember deciding that The Royal Tenenbaums is still my favorite of his films.

I left the theater and began heading back to the hostel. I was going to go back and grab a couple of things before heading out for the rest of the evening: my ultimate goal for the day was to see the Eiffel Tower up close.

I decided to check out the roof of the hostel right before leaving. The sky was finally blue, and I could see everything:

View of the Sacré-Cœur.

View of the Eiffel Tower.

Seeing Paris from up high for the first time broadened my perspective on the city. It is huge. Obviously. (And the fact that I could get to both of those monuments so quickly just shows how badass their metro system is. )

Here, my brain is a bit fuzzy, and I don’t have anything written down about how I got to the Eiffel Tower. I know I walked a bit to get there, but I definitely didn’t walk from my hostel. I must have stopped somewhere else and then walked the rest of the way.

Whatever the case — I made it. And, of course, it was under construction 😀

I didn’t let it bother me, though. I was standing right in front of a piece of architecture I never thought I’d visit this soon in my life. And while it is, by no means, my favorite piece of architecture, it sure is a meaningful one — and I was finally there.

I walked up towards it, passing couples and friends taking photos in front of it. It was chilly, but the sky was blue, so the whole thing was visible.

I sat on a bench and people-watched for a bit. And if we’re being honest: I was slightly underwhelmed…

I was talking to one of my friends about this recently, how when I see these amazing, world-renowned statues and pieces of architecture, I don’t feel as excited as I should. The reason, I’m sure, is the constant content we have available to us. I’d seen photos of the Eiffel Tower thousands of times before seeing it in person, so when I finally did, my excitement was more of “Wow, you finally made it here!” instead of “Wow, that’s the Eiffel Tower!” Yet another downside of instant gratification.

Anyway, despite the weather, I knew this area would have been packed in the summertime. I’d love to visit again during a warmer season, but I’m glad I got some touristy things out of the way during this trip.

After admiring it from a bench for a little while, I began to wander around. Everywhere I turned, I saw a brand new, seemingly better view of the tower.

I made my way towards the Seine, which I had been wanting to walk alongside since I’d first arrived a few days prior. The sky was slowly fading, but I wanted to squeeze all I could out of it while it was still there.

Being abroad is amazing for so many reasons, but I am a New Englander at heart and was desperately missing fall like I’d always known it. This foliage instantly brought me back.

I walked along the Seine for a while, thinking about the Tiber River back in Rome and how much I love how so many cities have rivers running through them. I truly feel like it makes it much easier to navigate.

I had an hour and a half until the sun would be down, so I decided to take a bit of a detour and find the Arc de Triomphe.

I stopped at a bakery before for a quick pain au chocolat and ate it while walking down Champs-Élysées. I saw the fanciest McDonald’s of my life and bought some chocolate at Jeff de Bruges (thanks, Abby, for the recommendation!). I also bought a copy of Le Monde, a French newspaper, to add to my collection of newspapers.

I walked a lot that day, eventually ending up near the Notre-Dame. I had a bit of a full-circle moment when I saw it, surrounded by construction, at dusk. When I first visited Italy, in 2019, I watched it burn through a small television screen in my hotel room in Sicily, right as it was happening.

And there I was, 2 years later, staring at the physical remnants, building a new memory with them.

This is Pont Notre-Dame in front of one of the most beautiful sunsets I’d seen — and certainly the best one I saw while in Paris. I sat on the bridge and people-watched for a bit, trying to find a place to go for dinner that evening.

The Notre-Dame.

But before heading back to Belleville for dinner, I decided to check out Shakespeare & Company, that famous bookstore you may have seen screen-printed on every other girl’s tote bag (mine included). I got lost in here for a while and bought a few things, admittedly relieved to find a large-ish group of English speakers.

Here’s another view from the bridge, which I walked over again after leaving the bookstore. This one features the Eiffel Tower, which looks 100x prettier at night.

I went back to the hostel quickly and continued doing restaurant research. You’d think I was with a group of five people that evening if you saw how indecisive I was. The thing is, I didn’t get to research too much before the trip, so I knew very little about French cuisine. This is one of the things I regret the most looking back, but I’d say I redeemed myself this evening and the next afternoon.

Since I was staying in Belleville, I decided to look for a place there. It just so happened that there was an Anthony Bourdain-recommended restaurant a few blocks from my hostel, so I looked up directions and decided to check it out.

Eventually, I made it to the restaurant and walked in, asking for a table in sorta-kinda French — only to be turned away by the owner and his family, who were chatting at the tables as I waltzed in. They were closed!

Solo traveling is oh-so-humbling because you literally have to laugh at yourself for your mistakes since no one else is there to do it for you… and if no one is laughing, you will go crazy.

I walked out and found a busier street to find a new restaurant. I glanced at a few menus, but nothing stood out to me, and I was determined to have a really good meal.

If there is a God, I truly believe they were on my side this evening, because this restaurant felt like destiny.

It’s called Le Faitout, and it was entirely vegan. I still dream about this place and about the incredible meal I enjoyed there.

I walked in and asked for a table for one. The owner, who was serving practically the entire small, cozy dining room, came over to me and explained the menu in English. He was one of the nicest people I met on this trip, expressing total pride and excitement for his 100% vegan menu. He recommended a wine to me based on the meal I chose, and he checked in every few minutes to see how I was liking it all. Yet he left me alone long enough to savor it all for myself first, which I am forever grateful for.

Here is what I ate: tempeh tartare, pickled veggies, coleslaw topped with gorgeous watermelon radishes, and fries. I ate every bite, feeling so content and proud of this random-yet-beautiful discovery. For dessert, I had a the richest chocolate mousse of my life that paired beautifully with the red wine. I would pay money to eat this again — and I’m sure, someday, I will.

Besides the kind staff, the restaurant was cozy and warm and dimly lit. It was filled with lively families and friend groups, and I got a front row seat. There was also a cat that hung out on the floor and played with shadows, further proving that there is a God who was kind enough to send me both a cat and a good meal.

I paid, said goodbye, and made my way back to the hostel, feeling a little on edge as I navigated quiet streets in the evening alone. I made it back, though, full and ready for a long sleep before my final day as a free man in Paris.

Free Man in Paris: Part Two

Words and photographs from day three of my solo trip to Paris, France in November of 2021

I’ve been at a standstill writing this series, which isn’t much of a series since I’ve only written the first part.

And then, this week, while walking outside, I felt a breeze. It was short, but it was powerful: it gave me chills, but as I kept walking, the sun warmed my back. For a moment, I felt like I was back in France, in the middle of November, walking out of the metro and into the harsh greyness of the city. I was reminded of this, quickly, and though it escaped my body immediately, it didn’t leave my mind. Since then, the trip has been scattered about in my hard drive of a mind — hence my instant inspiration to continue writing about the trip.

(If you haven’t read part one, you may read it here.)

Following my first real creme brûlée, I walked back to the hostel with a full stomach and a more optimistic mindset. I figured out timing regarding the next day’s plans, and then I slept.

I had scheduled a tour at the Louvre on Airbnb for 2:00. I was happy to be able to sleep in and take a shower that morning without rushing, like I had the previous morning before the bike tour.

I took my time getting to the museum, and, of course, once I walked out of the grand metro station, it began to rain. My clothes grew slightly damp, but I didn’t really mind as I knew I’d be inside for the next few hours. Plus, to complain about rain while in a place as beautiful as Paris just seemed wrong.

I walked around the grounds surrounding the museum, stopping at a little stand for a Nutella crepe — my first one since I’d arrived. It warmed me up and made the spitting sky a little easier to endure. I found a bench to eat on and people-watched for a while, eventually calling my friend Brooke for some company.

It’s always strange calling back home from abroad. It was super early back in Boston, where Brooke was at the time, while I had been up for a few hours. My day looked so much different than hers, and a part of me wished she — or, frankly, anyone — were there with me. This desire slowly dwindled as the trip went on, though, and I ended it glad that I had gone alone.

I signed up for a tour of the museum mostly I am an auditory learner, and I knew that if I was going to visit the Louvre, I was going to leave having learned something. I’m simply no good at reading and retaining things on museum plaques, so I knew some sort of tour was necessary for such an important experience.

This was the tour I did, which highlighted the can’t-miss masterpieces of the museum. The guide, Sylvanie, was fantastic. I was the first to arrive at the meeting spot, so we talked a little bit, and it turns out she went to school in Rome for her master’s degree! One by one, other group members joined us, and once everyone had made it, we all made our way into the museum.

You really can’t understand how big this place is until you visit. This tour only scratched the surface, which I’m glad for, but it made me certain that I need to visit again to see the many works I missed.

I have so many photos, but here are just some of my favorites:

This one was discovered in 1820 by a random farmer in Greece. Imagine just casually coming across this in your yard! If you look closely in person, you can see slight cracks where it’s been attached since it wasn’t found in one piece.

I love pretty much everything by Bernini, but this has to be one of my favorites. The marble mattress is incredible, and as you walk around the whole thing, you realize why it’s called Hermaphroditus.

As I entered this room, I made the internal decision that I need to come back — to everything: to France, to Paris, and to the Louvre itself. I had no idea this room existed; honestly, the only thing I knew about the Louvre was that the Mona Lisa lived there. The fact that there are probably millions of beautiful, unforgettable things within it — and within the city alone — that I’ll likely never see both overwhelmed me and reminded me of why I love travel so much.

An underrated da Vinci masterpiece. Sylvanie explained that this one is oil painted on wood, and you can actually see the wooden texture if you look at it closely.

Alas, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Here she is, in all her glory. The Mona Lisa. I knew she was smaller in real life, but I didn’t realize she’d be that small. I was slightly underwhelmed, but still very excited.

My tour group decided to wait in line to take photos and see it up close. It actually went by much quicker than I expected, and Sylvanie kept us entertained by spitting a million facts about the painting. Long story short, I left the Louvre loving art history more than I ever have. That’s when you know you had a good tour guide.

Me & Mona.

A lovely marble sculpture by Canova. We quickly passed by this one on our way out, but it ended up being one of my favorite things I saw that day.

Once the tour ended, Sylvanie explained that our tickets were still valid and that we could continue exploring the museum if we wanted. I decided to end there, because I knew if I continued I’d get burnt out, and I wanted my last moments at the Louvre to be good ones.

We all said goodbye, and I, being a gift shop connoisseur, naturally made my way towards the shopping area. I bought a few souvenirs and Christmas presents for friends and family and then headed to the metro where I rode back to the hostel.

Riding back to Belleville, I remember standing up, holding my bag of souvenirs, and staring back at my reflection in the train’s window. I was both tired from the day’s activities thus far, and slightly nervous for the evening ahead. It felt weird to me to have so much freedom — I could easily cancel my plans, since nobody was in my way to stop me from doing so.

But instead of letting my nerves get in the way, I embraced the freedom: the freedom I had longed for for as long as I could remember. It’s weird how we desire certain things so much, and then once we’ve got them, they scare the hell out of us.

Once I got back to the hostel, I changed clothes and relaxed for a few minutes. I hadn’t decided on a place to eat dinner, but I didn’t have too much time, so I asked the girls in my room if they knew any good places in the neighborhood. One of them, who was an American living in Istanbul, recommended the pho restaurant that I’d walked past every day on my way to the hostel, so I decided to check it out.

The view from my window seat at Pho 168. The sky had darkened, and I ate pho légumes with some hot tea that evening. It was warm and delicious, and the staff was especially kind. The restaurant wasn’t busy at all — I barely had any neighbors, which was lonely but oddly soothing as I listened to only a few voices echo through the quiet dining room.

When I finished, I went up to the counter to pay before using the bathroom. Then, I ventured out into the cold and rainy night to see Sébastian Tellier — a musician who is absolutely worth enduring shitty weather for.

I hopped on a train and put in my headphones. I traveled for nearly 30 minutes, slightly anxious every time it made a stop for fear that I’d miss mine.

These flowers were the first thing I saw upon exiting the metro. I walked a few blocks and finally arrived at the Salle Pleyel. This performance was part of Pitchfork Paris, and I think it was the final show of the festival.

I arrived just on time and found my seat on the balcony. I was slightly early, but enjoyed watching people on the floor as they mingled, maskless (an odd sight for November of 2021) with drinks in hand.

Right before the show started, “Hard Drive” by Cassandra Jenkins began to play over the speakers. She had performed at the festival the night before, and I’d discovered her just a month prior via that song. It is true poetry, and Pitchfork says it much better than I can in their review:

“As Jenkins figures things out, her band—featuring Stuart Bogie on saxophone, Eric Biondo on drums, and Josh Kaufman on guitar, keys, and fretless bass—settles into a glassy, sophisti-pop groove that glides like a slow journey uphill.”

It’s hard to explain, but I’ve found that certain songs have the power illuminate parts of my mind, even if I’ve listened to them a million times before. Sometimes, they come to me at just the right time, allowing for some sort of realization or epiphany. This evening, that happened twice: the first was during this song, which I could just barely make out over clinking glasses and muffled, incomprehensible words coming from my neighbors.

But still, I felt it in all its glory, like I’d finally made it up that “slow journey uphill” myself. Sitting there, in the middle of a random theater in Paris, I sunk into my seat and closed my eyes briefly. I was proud of myself for making it here, and for making this evening happen. I clung tight to the moment, trying extra hard to store it inside my own personal hard drive.

The show itself was merveilleux. It was also the first indoor concert I’d attended since 2019. The lighting was simple but super cool and colorful, much like Tellier himself. And I’ll never forget is his stage presence: he is the first performer I’ve ever seen smoke a cigarette during multiple numbers. His slow, near-stumbling movements were quite entertaining to watch over a loud, eccentric, synthpop adventure.

Then, when the show began to wind down, I knew what was coming: “La ritournelle.” It’s his most popular song, but it’s my favorite of his, and it’s also one of my favorite songs ever. I love everything about it, even down to the name: la ritournelle is such a beautiful word (in Italian, it’s ritornello, which fittingly rhymes with bello).

Like “Hard Drive,” I’d listened to it a million times before, but I think seeing it live will live in my “Best Concert Memories of All Time” mental list forever. It is a song that transports me every time I listen to it. It’s an escape from reality, only this time, I realized that it was the soundtrack to my reality. I was living “La ritournelle”: I could hear every breath and beat and note that existed and danced around me for a whole seven-and-a-half minutes. It was magic, and I hope I never forget it.

I left right after the show ended and decided to Uber back to the hostel, since it was late and I didn’t feel like being on the metro for another half-hour. As I sat in the back of the car, I remember feeling very small watching the city fly by. It was a good kind of small, though; it was one that reminded me of all the other magic moments I had yet to experience.

Stay tuned for the next few parts of this series, where I’ll share more photos and stories from the rest of my trip!