I don’t do brunch on a regular basis. In fact, I even suck at sleeping in. Any random Saturday morning, by 11am – the time when most people (or hispters?) grab their first bites of the day – I would have done my grocery shopping, ran a load of laundry, and probably planning what to cook for lunch. Nowadays, I’m even throwing in a swimming date with a friend into the mix. And on Sunday morning? F is supposed to “encourage” me to take a long jog in nearby parks.
Going to brunch is still a special occasion to me, usually for a irregular catch-up gabfest with a friend. Or to hangout with a visitor. I don’t have a favourite place to brunch, but it does give me an excuse to try out different spots around town. Most recently, when SL was in town and we were meeting in the neighbourhood around Canal St Martin, she let me led her to Holybelly so I could finally check it out.
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I love friends who make effort to visit Paris more than once. It means this city is no mere checklist item for them; it also opens up the possibility of leading them to Parisian neighbourhoods where few visitors venture in because they still need to see the Louvre, or Notre Dame, or Montmartre, and the likes. Don’t get me wrong: these are good places to see with much to learn (art, architecture, culture, etc) but after bringing one friend after another to the same set of places, it’s a nice change to be elsewhere, you know?
After a lovely brunch near the Canal St Martin (more on that next time), I invited SL to join me on an exploratory walk towards Mouzaïa, another purported “countryside” of Paris that lies in the 19th arrondissement. I don’t often come by this part of the city either, as I normally play explorer to discover the nooks and corners near where I live instead. Our trail took us from Canal St Martin to the small hilly streets by Colonel Fabien, then towards Parc des Buttes-Chaumont to continue towards the villas branching out from rue de Mouzaïa. And voila, the photos of things and places we admired on that wonderfully sunny September afternoon.
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This is one place, or more accurately, national park which needs very little introduction. The famous five Ligurian villages – Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola and Riomaggiore (from north to south) – interspersed along the rocky coastline of the Riviera di Levante have been written up and photographed by many, and here I am, with my meager personal contribution about these overly-revered villages.
F and I had rented quite possibly the smallest AirBnB room in Vernazza (cosier than Parisian budget hotel rooms, if it is at all possible), at the street level, so we could not open the wooden shutter without everyone looking in while we enjoyed the privilege of hearing every conversation in passing. It was conveniently located for us to explore the area but you can also see why it was tough for us to air the enchanting “eau de pied” when our hiking boots were off!
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The perk of spending a couple of nights in Cinque Terre: F and I caught beautiful sunsets on both balmy Italian evenings in quaint villages, feeling lighter and happier than usual. I’m not sure if it’s possible to get more idyllic than this.
At Vernazza, we combined sunset watching with cocktail and dinner high above the village, at a terraced restaurant. The experience was mostly undocumented as my camera battery died and I’ve left the spare in our room. The next evening in Riomaggiore, we went back to basic and bought fresh pasta-to-go and sat by the port to eat. We also added a cone of gelati as dessert, all the while observing people came and went in their (row) boats.
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It is no secret that F and I like eating in single menu – or no menu, depending how you see it – restaurants. We like to be surprised with something different, something that pushes our (usual) palate boundary, and more importantly, something that the chef creates based on what’s fresh and in season from the market. Even better combination, for us, would be a meal that’s creative yet home-y at the same time.
You may have noticed the lack of planning to our Italian trip thus far, relying mainly on serendipitous wandering around town for sightseeing, food, and gelati. Apart from knowing where we would be sleeping on any particular night, everything could happen. L’Imbuto (i.e. The Funnel) was the sole restaurant that I’d pencilled onto our itinerary, having seen it mentioned in an article about Lucca and got me all curious.
It was a tough self-debate if we should seek out Cristiano Tomei’s contemporary restaurant, or head to one of the local favourites which serves more traditional fares. We eventually decided an evening of out-of-the-ordinary meal over two weeks of traditional Italian could be a good culinary break. Our B&B host did make us doubt our decision for a moment, with his constant mention of how “special” this restaurant is, according to his friends.
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Lucca is a splendid walled-city, lies just to the north east of Pisa. I am not sure why there aren’t more people visiting this small city, but I am certainly grateful that we got to enjoy it without being jostled about. Founded over two millennia ago (even Julius Caesar had been here, and Puccini called it his hometown), it had seen days of glory (it was an independent city state, like Venice, until Napoleon came along) as well as certain decline (the fall into the Tuscan’s hand). Luckily, it had also retain plenty of charm to make this a worthy detour when travelling in the region. Hands down, better than Pisa!
The very first thing any visitor should do is to rent a bike. While Lucca is the kind of place one could happily saunter from one end to another, there is much more fun to be had on two wheels, especially when you could start touring the city by way of its intact Renaissance-era city walls and tree-lined ramparts. Very leisurely, a full turn takes about 20-25 minutes to complete. And you’d want to do it more than once, or maybe even in the other direction.
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A second day of whirlwind Italian sightseeing continued, this time to the heart of Tuscany. F and I were en route to Lucca, which requires at least a train change in Florence, and since we would be at the train station already anyway, why not take advantage of the time gap between trains to take a quick glimpse of the birthplace of Renaissance?
We were there sufficiently early in the morning that we could enjoy an external admiration of the prominent Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore among relatively thin crowd. Its green, pink, and white marble façade was breathtakingly elegant, and we also marvelled over the large brick dome – quite a feat of engineering when you consider the timeline of its construction. One of these days, I’ve got to visit it properly. This was my third trip to Florence and I’ve yet to step foot into the cathedral!
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It has been a good decade since I last visited Rome. I have forgotten just how enormous the buildings are, how many churches and cathedrals you can find within a stone’s throw, how chaotic everything could and would be, and how much I enjoyed hearing melodic Italian around me. However, I recall vividly the sheer number of people who flock to the main sights (even during the “shoulder” season)…
F and I started our two weeks trip to Italy with a quick stopover in Rome. How quickly? Just a little over a day. Frankly, I did not have the courage to brave the August crowd in the August heat, but when our schedule necessitated flying into Rome (but also out of Rome), it also seemed silly not to give F his first quick tour of the Eternal City.
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Still trying to keep the homebody syndrome at bay, F and I cycled across Pont de Grenelle into the 16th arrondissement over the weekend, nodded hello to the Lady Liberty in passing, and intent on exploring the petite ceinture sort of adjacent to the Jardin du Ranelagh/Bois de Boulogne. This stretch opened a good few years ago, in 2007, thus predates the one in the 15ème which we visited recently.
Passing by many elegant buildings in this affluent neighbourhood, we finally spotted an entry into the former railway belt near La Muette and slipped through the low gates that are characteristics of many entrances to Parisian parks and gardens. Had it not been for the sign we saw just a minute ago, we would not have guessed that this was where the trains used to pass. Unlike the petite ceinture in the 15ème, nary a sign of abandoned rail track could be found here. They had been dismantled.
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It could be the weather, it could be work, it could be a combination of multiple things. Whatever the underlying causes, I’m more a homebody lately than the overly perky urban explorer that I could be. Luckily, F wouldn’t let me languish about at home for more than what’s healthy, and we’d end up taking some short walks somewhere around town. A couple of weekends ago, we explored a small portion of the old railway belt of Paris, called La Petite Ceinture, in the neighbourhood.
Parts of the disused railway line, which once encircled Paris in its entirety, are now officially open to public for walks and jogs, although a large part of it remains out of bound – not that it deters the most ardent urban adventurers from accessing and actually enjoying beautifully wild paths in Paris that tempts me to follow their footsteps at some point!
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