strategy

My Bespoke Travel Guide

March 1, 2014 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

I like an organized trip folder for maps, info about my accommodations, lists of places to eat, parks and museums, transportation particulars, itineraries (by day and week, rain and shine versions). I include tips and tricks re: local customs, copies of important documents like my passport and insurance card, and a short list of courtesy words, since I am pathetically monolingual. You may think I am wee bit on the compulsive side of data gathering. I prefer to think of it as a bespoke travel guide.

A couple of days ago I spread out all the information I’ve collected on Paris and Amsterdam. I used our biggest coffee table, since Robert commandeered the dining room table for taxes.

I consolidated and discarded and snapped holes for a three ring binder, my usual MO. After a few days of sorting, it looks like this (below). Upper left is the Amsterdam folder, the Paris folder is open on the right. Newly printed maps in the center.

Today I compiled and cross-referenced lists of cafes, restaurants, bistros, and foodie street markets from my sources – recommendations from friends, Time Out Paris online, TripAdvisor, memoirs, blogs, and random suggestions. I created a personal Google map of the most promising places in the areas I expect to frequent. I printed out a couple of versions – one with the detailed list of name address and description, one that’s just the venue name and address. While I was in the ring with Google maps, (which I can make work, but it’s not pretty) I made another for parks and small museums. If I had better Google Map skills, I’d figure out how to do this in layers, but comparing the printouts side by side gives me a decent overview. If there is a church, a museum, a park, and a bisto/cafe all nearby, I’m golden.

I’ll have one or the other with me when I hit the streets. Sure, I should be able to find the map using my phone, and work out navigation, but – you never know. Batteries run down. Also, staring down at my phone is the opposite of being present in the Parisian moment. I can glance at a bit of folded paper in my hand and go forth, taking it all in. Belt and suspenders, that’s me.

Paris Rig

March 16, 2014 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Went out to dinner with my darling spouse, son, and his current squeeze. Asked Robert to take a photo of me since I was wearing my prototypical Paris rig – black jeans, black & white patterned shirt and scarf, black hoodie and my new Chucks. I forgot to take out my earbuds, but I’ll be wearing them most of time, so it’s authentic.

The only thing missing is my little backpack. What you can’t see is that my socks are crazy – they will be my blink of color. In this instance they are still b&w but they have cavalier spaniels on them.
Et voila

12 Random Observations

April 16, 2014 by Virginia Parker 3 Comments

In my imaginary Paris, there are no cars.

I’ve seen more Asian people in the Louvre in the last three weeks than I have seen in my lifetime, total.

Angelina’s is ground zero for thick, luscious, not particularly sweet hot chocolate, with a side of whipped cream.

Walking along the Seine over cobblestones is a tricksy, ankle-snapping risk, I don’t care what shoes you’re wearing.

Fascinated to see the way women actually moved in long skirts and corsets, via archival film footage in exhibits.

Pockets are absolutely essential, which is why I have only worn my otherwise ideal leggings once.

Most dangerous place in Paris is the stairs, whether marble (Louvre), wooden (apartment), escalator (Monoprix), stone (Seine) or concrete (Metro). Hiking up or down, it’s a compound fracture just waiting for a moment of inattention to happen.

I have to fight the urge to stroke, caress and pat the sculpture. And not bitch slap the people I see give in to the temptation.

Most useful tools; a tie between my iPhone (with a temporary global plan) and a small box of big safety pins, thick rubber bands, and large paper clips. I use these all the time.

I have never worn either coat I brought.

Skinny leg jeans are a must, Chucks are great, long thin scarves required.

Walking down the boulevard, lovers lean toward each other as if they are north and south poles of a magnet. I miss you, Boatie. Viva l’amour à Paris.

Tuesday, April 15, Day 14

April 18, 2014 by Virginia Parker 1 Comment

I’ve started sending myself an email that has the exact addresses of the places I might visit – this makes it a quick copy/paste to Google maps walking directions, or using the Metro app for best public transportation route, or showing to taxi or Uber drivers what to plug into their maps.

Since the Louvre is closed today, I have options – Do one of the audio walks, visit one of the small museums or head for a market. The weather – a few degrees cooler than is has been helps me choose, and I call Uber for a ride to the Musée Jacquemart André, 158 Boulevard Haussmann. This is an exquisite jewel box of a museum, that reminds me of the Frick in New York City.

They also have a free app, that I preferred to the audioguide offered at the door ( I tried both) https://itunes.apple.com/en/app/musee-jacquemart-andre-application/id582936499?mt=8. It is a sad truth that the dim lighting required to preserve the works and the placement of paintings can mean that the Fran Hals portrait that’s a muted glimmer high up in a darkened corner in dim room in real life, is as clear and vivid as if I held it in my hand the sunlight, with subtleties of texture and brushwork easily visible on my iPhone screen.

What the screen lacks is scale and three-dimensionality, what reality lacks is everything else. This is not true (or as true) with sculpture. Even dark rooms and remote placement offers more to direct experience that the flattening screen image.

Back to this mansion, which was a marvel of its age, with walls that would sink down into the basement by way of hydraulics to accommodate tout Paris society. The version the museum puts out is charming and civilized – they loved each other and both loved art and he had pots of money which they spent hand over fist on the best art they could find. They differed only in that he preferred the Venetian artists and she championed the painters of Florence. I take it a face value and my visit is a pure pleasure.

This includes my brunch, since I’d had nothing but that cup of tea. I lined up at the café door promptly at noon. I expected pastries and maybe a sandwich but it was ever so much nicer. The regular menu blew my skirt up by naming every dish after a painter; Watteau, Bellini, Chardin, Mantegna, Fragonard, Ruysdael, Canaletto, Van Dyck. There was a special themed menu (as did the Isabella Stewart Gardener when I visited Boston in December) created for the current exhibition; De Watteau à Fragonard, Les fête Galantes. I opted for duck breast in honey and soy, with risotto and It was divine.I read my Nook, glanced around the cheerful company from time to time, and cleaned my plate down to the shine.

Two French ladies were seated next to me and they sounded like finches perched on a fountain. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WmdBSn-34E8 A rapid and variable sequence of warbles, with a lyrical, burbling undercurrent. The French language seems to have a naturally musical quality. Perhaps it’s better to listen to the sound uncontaminated by meaning than be distracted by content.

I took in the special exhibit and, once again. the preparatory drawings seemed superior to many of the finished oil paintings.

Refreshed in spirit, off to the Joséphine exhibit at the Musée de Luxembourg (19 rue de Vaugirard) The audio guide was something of a hagiography, and I quickly realized how few facts I knew about her or Napoléon. The exhibition claimed the 5’6″ Napoleon was average height for the times, though as you can see by her charming fur-lined and beribboned walking boots, Joséphine wore flats. That is why I have spent most of the evening chasing biographies of Joséphine around the Internet instead of writing my blog. I have sworn to have lights out early, as bleary vision is the bane of the museum visitor.

Dropped by the jewelry store that has the bracelet I’ve coveted. I’ve been back twice to look at it. I can’t justify it, but I decide if it’s still there, I’m going to get it. It’s as delicate as a filament in a light bulb with I Love This Life engraved on a delicate silver bar, a twisted thread of aqua blue tying it on. Very simple. I walked in, and walked out wearing it ten minutes later. From the bracelet to the optometrist. Secretly worried the frames wouldn’t be as fab as I remembered but no, still totes adorb. Moment of unexpected hilarity. As the clerk checked the fit of the glasses, she handed me a card to read, to check the acuity of the prescription lenses.

I started laughing. I couldn’t read it, but that was because it was in French. I could see it with perfect clarity.

A fantastic day.

Friday, April 18, Day 17

April 21, 2014 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Friday was my last visit to the Louvre. After a maudlin start, I knew I could either be all elegiac Canon In D Major sad, or bask in my good fortunate Pharell Happy. I chose happy. Packed my backpack carefully, refilled my bottle with Perrier, made sure I had my sketchbook and pencils*, Nook, maps, and back-up battery pack**. No line at the Metro ticket machine, and a seat was open on the train, double win.

Galloped into the Louvre, with my iPod blasting Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba,’ blessing my Des Ami des Louvre card, straight into the arms of the Flemish, Dutch and Germans on the second floor of the Richelieu wing. I followed my eyes and heart. At some point, I began taking photos of women with books or swords.

Bonus points if they carried both.

That carried me through the next three hours. My mood cycled from happy to be there, to sorry to be going. Finally, it occurred to me that the harder it is to part, the luckier I was to have been there. I had just taken a photo from the window with the Tuileries ahead, Eiffel Tower to the left and the city gleaming white in the distance, when an ear-splitting alarm went off, followed by a voice telling everyone to evacuate the Louvre, for reasons of safety.

The announcement, in multiple languages, alternated with the alarm. I wondered if someone had started humping the Venus de Milo, or if there was a shooter loose, maybe a bomb threat. I watched people wander by in the direction of the escalators as the announcement kept repeating, but it was like trying to turn the Titanic. No one seemed to feel any urgency. I started towards the stairs but didn’t rush any. I saw a security guard and asked him what gives. He shrugged one weary shoulder, blew a puff of exasperated air out of his lips as only the French can, and said, “It is a drill. You may ignore it.”

All righty then. No problem. I decided to consider it the lunch bell, since it was past 1pm. I went to Angelina’s and tucked into grilled sole and lemon hollandaise, with a basket woven out of shaved carrots in three colors, followed by noisette, and a macaroon for dessert. I did another little drawing of Joséphine on a postcard, this time for Robin. Afterward, I went back to where I started on Day One, the sculpture court, and sketched my favorite view of Roland, Furioso.

I walked in and out of the various levels of the sculpture court until I finally made myself quit stalling and leave. I took the Metro back to Saint-Paul, and, en route, took a sip of water. Or planned too, but when I unscrewed the top, it blew off with a bang, like I’d popped a champagne cork or fired a Glock. I sat there, stunned, sprinkled with l’eau mineral. No one was injured, and the guy next to me thought it was very amusing. I was obviously shocked down to my shoes. So kids, today’s lesson is don’t put water that’s carbonated in your water bottle, then walk all over Paris before you open it.

I left the metro without further incident, and walked over to a shop with scarves I’d liked and bought one in vivid Mandarin orange with white polka dots of varying sizes. Then I walked to Le Marché des Enfants Rouges, thinking I’d have pigeon pie and mint tea for an early supper, but no, too late. Headed back and passed a Scandinavian clothes shop called Cheap Monday and bought a white tee shirt with C H E A P P A R I S printed on it in black lettering. Maybe you had to be there, but it cracked me up. I ended up eating a savory buckwheat crepe at Breizh café, a joint everyone raves about, but not me. Meh, is the best I can say. I scouted Monoprix for a cheap and sturdy tote in case my purchases max out my suitcase and pulled some Euros out of the ATM. Home to the apartment, where I started the laundry, nuked a couple of apples in the microwave and wrote this up. Tomorrow is my final day in Paris. I figure I’ll pack then just wander. Maybe do a ParisWalk from the audio guide.

*I’ve only needed one sketchbook, but it’s the one I bought at Sennelier (not too big, not too small, etc).

** I haven’t had to use the battery pack since I started charging the iPhone and its Mophie case at bedtime. The iPhone battery is down to 20% around 3pm, the way I’ve been using it. Hit the Mophie recharge and there’s usually 60% or so left by the time I’m done for the day by 6 or7pm. Mophie is a game changer, in a good way.

Thursday, April 24, Day 5

April 25, 2014 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Simple plan made the night before: visit the Hermitage Museum outpost in Amsterdam to see the Silk Road exhibition, then head back towards the B&B, with a stop at the van Loon museum or maybe the Albert Cuyp Market. Rain is forecast to start at 10am and that will decide how much walking around I’ll be doing. I put on my raincoat (the only time I have worn it. The winter coat has not left the bag it was stuffed in) and slip the collapsible umbrella in my bag.

Ubered over to the museum, which reminded me of an Apple store on the inside – curving white walls, glass and metal stairs, lots of interaction features – swipe your ticket over a sensor to be admitted, doors swing open as you approach, the audio guide is triggered from a point on the wall you swipe with you audio unit, like the self check-out at Kroger.

My experience with the Silk Road exhibit will be all tell and no show, since photographs were prohibited. It ranged from fragments of damaged, extremely faded wall murals, to an entire silk garment lined in squirrel fur, preserved in ice for over a thousand years. Multi-media elements included a stuffed dromedary, a two-story high wall projection/slide show of individual items in the exhibit, and audio of Tibetan monks chanting. There were sections on the archeological aspects, past and current, For me, the idea of the show was more interesting than the artifacts on loan. I think the Hermitage mother ship could have been a little more generous with what they made available for this.

I left on foot through spitting rain, toward the Museum van Loon. Passed by a bustling entry and peered inside at what turned out to be the Tassenmuseum Hendrikje, the Museum of Bags and Purses. I hesitated, but with a museumkaart, entry was free, so what the hay. Once inside I winced at the sign announcing a special exhibit – 50 years of Barbie! – but figured I could skip that, no one ever had to know. The collection is housed in a classic, canal view mansion, with the earliest objects on the top floor. One four-story climb later I walked in, and saw a goatskin drawstring bag with iron clasps from 1600. I was hooked. I loved it when they put a painting from the same era behind the purse – instant context. Like this:

The displays address the evolution of material and function. There are examples of beading, basketry, leather, plastic, and metal. Purses for brides and for chatelaines. Exhibits of what women carried, in various eras. So many of the purses were playful, inventive, or as hand held sculpture, like the clutch that mimicked a steamship. I pressed my nose against the glass more than once.

A cafe on the second floor had two formal rooms set for a high tea. They found me a table, slipping me in between the reservations.

I promised to be quick. Clotted cream, jam, and biscuits, how I missed you. I wolfed down crustless triangles of smoked salmon sandwiches, that biscuit, and a pot of Earl Grey. On my way out, I ducked into the gift shop. A Margaret Thatcher lookalike enthusiastically assisted me, and a mug, postcard, and one secret item later (a gift for Robert so I can’t include it here), I made it out the door. Guilty pleasures are the sweetest.

Walked on to the Museum van Loon, in the home belonging to the co-founder of the Dutch East-India Company. Interesting tension between the portraits of van Loon children by Dirck Santvoort and Nicolaes Maes, and a series of contemporary children’s portraits by artist Katinka Lampe they inspired.

Both disturbing, in their own way.

I revisited rooms multiple times. They had massive bouquets of fresh flowers throughout the mansion, a living version of Rachel Ruysch’s stilleven met bloemen paintings.

The formal garden behind the house was blooming in a palette of orange and purple and graced with a copy of the sculpture I last saw in the Louvre, Hercules carrying his son Télèphe.

Thirty more minutes of walking over bridges, dodging around bicycles and trams, and I was back at the B&B. It was a day that convinced me of how good it is to have a museumkaart in my pocket. and time to allocate as I wish.

What Was I Thinking?

March 4, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

I had a bout of pre-trip anxiety yesterday. I always go through a stretch of moody days where I can’t remember why I wanted to go on a long trip far away. My mind runs like this I’m not ready. I should study more history. The journey will exhaust me. I need to learn Portuguese. Some calamity – from stolen purse to psychotic landlord to broken leg – will befall me. Grumble grumble. Who wants to eat hot squid sandwiches and look at gloomy Spanish art anyway?

I do. And I will.

This has happened like clockwork, about month before every long-awaited trip. It’s predictable and look, it’s right on time. My policy is to note my glum mood and let it pass by, like clouds over the sun. I keep calm and carry on with my lists, in the sure and certain knowledge when I get on the plane I’ll be ready for adventure. It isn’t important whether or not it’s the adventure I have so carefully planned. In the immortal words of Rick Steves, if something is not to my liking, I can change my liking.

I have lost my passport, been targeted by a team of pickpockets, been spat at by a gypsy in Venice, passed a gallstone in a Paris museum, lost my way on foot in the dark of night, and arrived after a weary journey to find my accommodations uninhabitable. At the time I was too busy figuring out how to deal with the problem to be glum. In retrospect what I took away was confidence in my ability to adapt and thrive under all circumstances. Not a bad souvenir.

Roadtrip

March 17, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day – here’s hoping you don’t have to chase any snakes. Wear green.

I’ll be on the road for five hours today with beloved Art historian daughter – trekking across the southland to the Birmingham, Alabama art museum http://www.artsbma.org/ to feast my eyes on their small treasures exhibit. It is not every day my part of the world hosts the likes of Vermeer, Hals, Steen, Leyster, Rembrandt and van Dyck. http://www.artsbma.org/5-things-to-know-about-girl-with-the-red-hat/

The bulk of my planning for the Madrid/Lisbon trip is done and dusted. I can just plug and play the strategies I used for my month in Paris – like which clothes and electronics to bring. There is some tweaking to be sure. Clothing will be almost identical, though I am eliminating long sleeve shirts, hiking socks and a down coat. Checking the history of the April weather of Madrid, the last ten years have seen most days in the 70s/80s. http://www.wunderground.com/history/airport/LEMD/2014/4/17/MonthlyCalendar.html?req_city=Madrid&req_state=&req_statename=Spain&reqdb.zip=00000&reqdb.magic=1&reqdb.wmo=08221 You have to go back to 2004 to see consistent daily averages in the 50s/60s.

No yoga pants – sure they are cute and comfy, but their lack of pockets trumped that every time. No dress flats or clogs. Instead, two pairs of Chucks, maybe a pair of slides. More additions: Adding bright pinks and reds to the tee shirt mix. I remember craving color last time. In a nod to the warming weather, one pair of thin cotton cargo-esque pants.

Something I am packing since I couldn’t find it in Paris or it was crazy expensive – Earl Grey, English breakfast, Chai and Peppermint tea, oatmeal and Splenda. I’ll use those every single day.

My day-to-day plans are looser too – now that I know whatever I expect it will all change once actually set foot in the Prado. Just in time for Saint Patrick’s Day, the ‘Lettuce’

José de Galaz, Monstrance from the Church of San Ignacio in Bogotá, known as “The Lettuce”. 1700

Madrid/Lisbon Workout

March 21, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

I’ve been working out at the gym for months, with Madrid as my motivation. I need all the strength and stamina I can muster. I go four days a week, one of them with a great trainer, Jessica Bowman. She’s got me running stairs, which is brilliant. It makes total sense if you know how much time I spend climbing and descending stairs in museum. I do upper body weights with the goal of being able to heave my carry-on luggage into the overhead bin on the airplanes. True confession: I also play the old lady card. Hey, gray hair and seniority is good for something. Usually someone offers to give me a hand.

Today was typical – I pedaled for 50 minutes on a recumbent bike, stretched, then did a back/ ab machine for another ten minutes.

I am not kidding myself that this in any way equals what the upcoming Madrid/ Lisbon trip will require of me, but it does keep me limber. I shift into a another gear on the road. The adrenalin and endorphins released when I’m standing in front of great art, the mental agility required to navigate each day in a strange land, plus the complete lack of routine seems to tap into resources I can’t usually access.

Suit Up & Show Up

March 20, 2016 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Spent time this weekend sorting through my suitcase packing list. Most of it stands from the last three trips – same amount of time on the road, at the same time of year. The main difference is the expected weather conditions for a city located at about the same latitude as Oslo, Stockholm, and Helsinki, and as far north as Alaska. Last year in April it was cold, wet and rainy in Prague, and colder, wetter and rainier in St. Petersburg. This requires clothes that will withstand the elements; a hoodie and a scarf won’t do. My system is always layer up, so I’ve added a couple of henley-weight long sleeve shirts, thorlo socks, mittens, my knit viking hat, and a lightweight but toasty Mountain Hardware jacket. A pair of waterproof mid-calf boots, a sleek, warm, rain-proof coat, and a serious umbrella will keep me dry. When you pack as light and tight as I do, I’m hard-pressed to fit it all into my main carry-on size case and my compact fit-under-the-seat sized carry-on. I’m hoping to spread it around the two cases, stuff socks and knickers in the boots, use space bags to squeeze down the rest.

I gained a little room because my iPhone doubles as my map, camera, alarm, translator, guides, and flashlight. My iPad is my library, thanks to my Kindle and Nook apps, as well as in-depth museum guide apps. It can do most of the same tricks my iPhone can do. There are no Apple stores, but there are Apple products for sale, so if bad fortune befalls me (like push comes to shove on the metro and thieves make off with my auxiliary brains) I can hope to replace them.

I’ve been setting clothes and shoes aside, ready to pack when the day came. I choose dark colors to get the maximum wear out of least number of items. Bonus: it all but eliminates time spent dithering over what to wear, because it doesn’t matter. The answer is always what’s clean (or clean enough). Last year raspberry was my accent color. This trip I’m adding a couple of blue shirts and socks to my perennial black and gray. The new coat is a soft gray-blue, and my very nice umbrella is sky blue with puffy white clouds.

Packing is pretty Zen. Everything I think might work is heaped on chairs and dresser tops in the guest room, then it’s process by elimination. If I need four long-sleeved shirts and have ten that might work, I pick the four that compliment each other best. I set each item on the guest room bed, marking it off the list as I go. I try on things that look fine, but might not fit or feel right, to be sure. When I’d gone through it all, I launder everything, with a second rinse cycle. I’ve discovered the hard way that walking eight hours a day chafes my tender skin if there’s any trace of laundry detergent left in the denim. And yes, my pants – all three of them – are black or dark gray denim. I am visiting cultural capitals, not the country side, not the coast, not resorts. Blue jeans feel too casual, black jeans seem just that bit more formal and appropriate.

Of course, everything looks better with a cavalier.