Modern nomads want connection and authentic experiences… .. and we are willing to go to the ends of the earth to find them. It’s a need, like water or food. I once traveled to the isle of Erraid off the coast of Scotland and fell to my knees on the …
We all have places like this, and discover new ones each time we travel. Places that remind us to fall in love with our own lives.
This kind of travel isn’t about romance or fantasy. It’s not about escaping our situation or distracting our minds with picturesque views. It’s about waking up, learning to notice details and appreciate the magic of our own lives. It’s easier to remember and appreciate the small details when we travel and everything is new, but this kind of love is available to us all of the time.
Walking up to il Valle dei Mulini above Amalfi, one leaves the main piazza, her shops, the Duomo and her gelato behind. We find the entrance to the “valley of the mills” lemon grove to start our climb up. Luigi Aceto was waiting for us. A spry man in his …
Kim Schiffer was a soul sister from the moment I met her. Two southern women in the mountains out west, it was if we were from the “old country,” speaking a dialect only we could understand. We loved the same things as if cut from the same cloth and since …
“Tarte des Demoiselles Tatin”. Growing up in the south, I am a lover of cobblers. Fruit is collected, usually blackberries from back roads or fresh peaches off the tree, sliced and tossed with sugar and placed into a baking dish and covered with biscuit dough. Summers were long and a cobbler hit the spot at Sunday dinners.
Chef Piero Ferrini demonstrates his quick and on the spot method for sharpening his knives.
Even during a crisp November, the Alabama air was cool and humid. The skies were often grey and the ground, a wet looking brown. A sense of melancholy hung on the bare trees like something was missing. Sitting on Aunt Siddy’s porch 1980’s It took two hours to drive from …
The peach tree was laden down with the softest, peachiest peaches you can imagine. Although a small tree, she took the burden of the bountiful crop. It was a Sunday, a good day for making pies. Miss Peach, took her wooden bowl and filled it up with the sweet, downy fruit. It was a better idea than reading. After all, she’s only six. And reading is far too serious for a summer day with school already just around the corner. Master Peach agreed.
The Port Master, Aniello Sposito, held his gaze with Antonio for the longest time until our boat had been steered into the proper spot. (If you know anything about boats, this is tricky at best, but risky as well with the neighboring real estate.)
