I had seen Wendy in photos and despite her size she is hard to miss. As a cheery petite Taiwanese American, she stands out in a train car of grumpy morning Parisians. Relieved having seen her board, I decided to be a grumpy morning Parisian myself and keep to my corner with the old man, staring at the window with my music for the next hour and a half. Every time I board a train I have big goals — I’ll do some work, write a bit in my journal, come up with my next big idea. Inevitably all I end up managing to do is stare out the window, hypnotized by the world moving past outsized thinking about yesterday and tomorrow. Today I thought maybe I would even steal a little sleep before the long days and drive ahead. I assumed I would be at the wheel for the duration of this trip upon reaching Tours, as it wasn’t my first trip to the Loire region, I knew my way around a bit and somehow felt responsible like a guide to Wendy on her first journey here. I didn’t sleep at all.

I’ve been to the Loire four or five times now. Once upon a time we used to come here for weekends at the Chateau du Portail, but a few years ago Claude, the owner, moved on and shut it down, much to our despair. Then there was the summer I decided to take Audrey here, to a work stay in an old mill. It was a beautiful week, but filled with a particularly strange cast of characters and plot twists that really came out of left field, stranger than fiction, the only thing that was missing was a crime. Maybe someday I’ll write that story, on another train to another place.

The first time you come to the Loire though is really something. All the things you thought existed only in fantasies and fables are somehow real here.The hundreds of chateaux throughout the region, some famous and some forgotten, are right out of a storybook and there is no shortage of stories to fill its pages. But when I received the invitation to come back here I almost said no. I had been traveling a lot those days and I thought “I’ve been there so much, do I really need to go back?”

By the time we got off the train it was late morning in Tours. I approached what I thought was Wendy and sure enough, it was. After introductions I realized it had been foolish of me to worry about her making her own way. The seasoned traveler that she is, she pulled out her international driver’s license at the car rental declaring “No problem, I can drive!”. But I insisted. Most of the joy of driving around the French countryside (unless you are at the wheel of a fine curve hugging luxury german automobile) comes from looking out the window, and I wasn’t about to let her miss out on that from the peace of the passenger side. I live here after all, and Wendy had come a long way from New York. Plus, I like driving because after all I am still and will always be from Southern California.

Immediately Wendy’s excitement rubbed off on me. It was only her second time in France and her first trip outside of Paris. Her enthusiasm made me remember what it felt like to come to this place for the first time and I liked that. As we drove along the Loire River that gives the valley its name, Wendy told me all about her adventure of the last year — leaving her relentless job in New York City after ten years, packing up her apartment, consolidating life into one suitcase, and hitting the road…indefinitely. Traveling with people is the best way to get to know them, and Wendy is a winner, a total optimist, and a really brave spirit. She is throwing out positive energy left and right, at times I thought she would float right off the ground from it all and sometimes she did, but she always came back down, safely. Although I had my doubts once or twice. Like when she danced on the wall of the moat at the Chateau de Chenonceau to get the perfect picture, and when I had to talk her down from trying to dangle her feet out of the hot air balloon. As we passed a chateau nestled in the hill on the other side of the river, Wendy perked up asking “Which one’s that?!” The truth is I didn’t know. Like I said there are so many chateau in the Loire region that not all that is beautiful is necessarily known. Chateaux are expensive to maintain. Most people couldn’t afford such a thing. Sometimes even kings and queens couldn’t find the cash to keep them up and running. So over time, many have fallen into disrepair. Now that is another kind of chateau tour of the Loire altogether that I would like to take.

And so let it be known that any chateau we have the privilege of visiting today is not still here alive and well by accident, but rather thanks to the great interest, care, and investment of the people that own them and certainly the historians, architects, gardeners, and more that they employ. Well truth be told, they might owe some of it to accident, or luck I should say, as a few days in the region and you’ll learn just what France has been through. The Chateau d’Amboise, for example resisted the Viking invasions, the attacks from the British in the Hundred Years War, and even the advancement of the Nazis in World War II who managed to blow out its beautiful stain glass windows which have since been replaced by an inferior version. As a side note, a lot of people seem to be worried about France and the events of the last several years. They act as if we’ve been taken over by terror and are on the brink of some imminent ruin. One look at history would help to put these problems in perspective. Not to diminish any tragedy, but France has seen some dark and violent days and always persevered. Worry not, we will be fine.

The silver lining is that it may just have been the temporary drop in tourism that freed up some very important people to show Wendy and I around. Like François Saint Bris for example, the owner of the Chateau Clos Lucé just down the road from the Chateau d’Amboise. I should note, the chateaux of the Loire are largely a mix between holdings by investment groups, properties of the government as national heritage sites, and then those that are privately owned by individuals and families that promise to be grand characters, like François for example. The Chateau Clos Lucé has been in François’ family for several centuries. As the last home of Leonardo Da Vinci, it doubled as his workshop and today houses many of his possessions, including his old notebooks which he wrote backwards so that people couldn’t look over his shoulder and steal his genius. Francois has hundreds of stories about Da Vinci, beginning with how and why he was brought here by the king of France after losing his last patron in Italy near the end of his life. He made the journey on a wagon with the Mona Lisa and a few other priceless masterpieces in tow with his assistant only, through the snowy alps nonetheless. Think about that the next time you stand in front of that little portrait at the Louvre. 

But as fascinating as Leonardo Da Vinci is, I was actually more interested in François. He is one of the foremost scholars on Leonardo, and he quotes him at least once every five minutes. He has that old French sophistication that’s marked with a scarf tied around his neck and a massive vocabulary in English pleasantly delivered with a very strong French accent. There seems to be almost nothing he doesn’t know something about, a lot like Da Vinci himself I imagine. And, he has dedicated his life to the preservation of the chateau, which is not easy even when you are the third most visited of all the chateaux in the region. As he shows us around the Clos Lucé, he tells us about nearly every single object, in detail. But the thing I remark on the most he how he pauses after each one to look at it as though it was his first or last time ever seeing it, his hands calmly tucked in his pockets and a contemplative look in his eyes. I think it would take a lifetime to know all there is to know about Da Vinci, but Wendy and I only had a morning at the Clos Lucé and its lush grounds before we moved on to the queen of all the chateaux — Chenonceau.

I was so excited for Wendy to see Chenonceau for the first time. I remember my first time here with my mom many years ago. Growing up there was a round little tower off my bedroom with a slate roof. I loved it. I felt like I was on top of my kingdom when I looked out from the window up there. Now take that feeling and multiply it by one thousand and that’s the excitement of stepping onto the grounds of Chenonceau. It’s easy to spend the whole day here getting lost in this place. One of my favorite things about Chenonceau is something about it feels very open and accessible, more so than any other chateau I have visited in the Loire. There are very few velvet ropes and carpets you must abide by. In fact I’m not sure there are any at all. No guided sense of a visit, it’s so open and thus there is this element of discovery and feeling of free reign here. But my visit this time was unlike any of the others before.

When we arrived there was the limousine of golf carts waiting for us at the entrance driven by Chenonceau’s attachée de presse. Our 110 horse power carriage took us first to the florist’s atelier. One of the special things about Chenonceau is that it is the only chateau to have a full time on site florist, Jean -François Boucher, who is also a recipient of the prestigious Meilleur Ouvrier de France (master craftsman of France) and a one time floral champion of Europe. If you didn’t think fairytales were real enough in the Loire then I ask you to imagine finding a very handsome tall straight French man making the most beautiful floral artworks you’ve ever seen in his atelier in a castle — you see my point. Each week Jean-François makes nearly a hundred original arrangements that decorate the chateau, just one more thing that makes this chateau feel alive today and more beautiful than perhaps any other. 

Many of the flowers he works with come from the extensive gardens of the chateau that are actually run by another handsome man who actually happens to be American, the adorable Nick Tomlan who landed this dream job when he relocated his family to France with his French wife a few years back. Nick hails from Longwood Gardens in the states, and now oversees the gardening here at Chenonceau, from intricate designs over the massive grounds to the vegetable gardens in the back. He has seen the gardens through some tough times including the floods of June 2016 across France. I enjoyed talking to Nick so much about life in France and at the chateau. One of the most interesting things I walked away with was understanding the responsibility of the gardens as being a living piece of history, all at once staying true to something they have always been while reinventing them each season as must be done with many of the annuals. Between Nick and his team and Jean-François, Chenonceau is teaming with color and life inside and out.

We spent so much time enjoying the gardens in perfect weather and talking to the Chenonceau team over lunch at L’Orangerie that we didn’t see the time flying by. I didn’t want Wendy to miss the inside of castle so with only 20 minutes left I told her to make a run for it. I sent her on her way with my tips to head straight to the Great Hall, the kitchens, the top floor balcony…well the list was too long but it’s only her first fairytale so I suppose we will have to come back for her to see the rest. We had to leave for the occasion of our very first hot air balloon ride. It was Wendy’s idea in fact. Wendy is a great example of if you are bold enough to ask the universe for things, you might just get them. She asked and we received a hot air balloon ride over the valley. 

An hour before sunset they fired up the balloon, popped us in the basket and we lifted off the ground, ready to go where the wind would take us, this time over Chenonceau to admire the castle and its gardens from above as the sun set over the Loire. As we watched the other balloons in the distance and the castles and rivers across the valley below, I was astonished by the silence up this high, the stillness in the air, the absolute calm that overcame me. The height never scared me. I looked straight down and contemplated the hundreds of meters of emptiness below my feet and the bit of wicker that separated me from plummeting through it to the earth below. Sometimes I do things like that deliberately to see what feelings they will evoke. But nothing could touch me here and I just spent the time gazing out on the horizon, watching the world go by, thinking about yesterday and tomorrow just like in the train.

From high up looking over the valley I wondered how many places here I had yet to see, how many times one would need to come back to know them all. How foolish I was to think I had seen enough of this place. How many places in my life that I had already been for the last time. It’s funny how being so high literally puts everything into perspective, physically and mentally. To see the curvature of the earth, to think of it spinning around at every moment, to think of how fragile and small we are in the scheme of things, how many strokes of lucks and choices between no and yes it took to end up exactly where we are.

Tomorrow would be our last day in the Loire to pay a visit to the Chateau d’Azay le Rideau, a small but beautiful chateau that is a masterpiece of renaissance architecture. At Azay we had the great fortune of visiting during a partial renovation, which some might find a nuisance but I found absolutely fascinating. On the top floor we peered in at the craftsmen rehabilitating a wing of the chateau from the inside out, which once again is a great responsibility as part of a historic monument seeing as these places are treasures not just for what we see with the naked eye but as a time capsule of craftsmanship for the era in which they were built, entirely without the modern advancements of today. To understand how the chateaux of the Loire were originally constructed in an age without electricity, fork lifts, cranes, and computers affords you a whole new appreciation for them as architectural masterpieces.

After our tour we sat in the garden of the café with our tour guide. I’m embarrassed to say that today as I write this I no longer remember her name, but her adorable accent that made her sound like a song and her wavy brown hair…those I recall. With her and Wendy we talked about what it must have been like to grow up in the Loire and how she married a musician and has two little girls. We talked about how even with modest means they travel all the time by car. It just reminded me once again that France is such a wonderful place because one never has to go far to see so many extraordinary things. You could have never stepped foot on a plane in your life and still seen so much here. For that it really is like a fairytale kingdom where somehow every kind of setting you can imagine is just beyond a small mountain range or perhaps across a river. You never know what you will find there but chances are it has another story completely and is beautiful and majestic in its own right. 

Talking with her and Wendy on our last day and recounting her all our experiences at Chateau d’Amboise, Clos Lucé, and Chenonceau made me realize that traveling is as much about the people you encounter as the places you see. After lunch she showed Wendy and I a secret garden and we stayed a while here taking pictures and marvelling at simple things like butterflies, the size of pumpkins, and flowers. It was hard to believe I had only met her just a few days before. And while it may have not been my first visit to the Loire, I was so happy I got to play a character in Wendy’s first fairytale here. She and the Loire and all our new acquaintances there have certainly filled some pages of mine.

Denim overalls from H&M winter 2016, The Reformation pink linen top from summer 2016, burgundy suede boots from Opening Ceremony autumn 2015, custom made black linen dress by Mona, striped knit jumper from Cap Breton, “Dior Set” earrings from Christian Dior, and pink velvet dress from Style Nanda.

I had always wondered about the Hotel Raphael but it totally slipped my mind once I set my eyes on the newly reopened Ritz at Place Vendôme. Turns out I am not totally out of control after all. Upon further investigation I would have to rent out my Paris apartment for two months to afford a night at the Ritz in Paris. This is just too steep a price to pay, but figuratively speaking I’ve paid dearer costs for just one night, but that is a sad story for another time. Give me another decade, or a winning lottery ticket, and I’ll try for the Ritz again.

But back to the Hotel Raphael because this place hardly feels like settling. Actually, I kind of enjoy that it doesn’t need to be dripping in gold to be fantastically French. If it’s good enough for the diplomats and politicians whose secret service are constantly parked outside in black sedans, then it’s good enough for me. And this is just one of the fascinating things about this beautiful hotel.

It’s owner, Françoise Bavarez, inherited the hotel from her family and has since declined every offer from incessant Arab, Chinese, and American groups constantly trying to buy her out. Nearly every other five store hotel in Paris is owned by foreigners and undergone some questionable renovations financed primarily by oil money. But not Françoise’s…she just isn’t having it, which makes me kind of adore this woman I’ve never met. A long list of iconic clients like Walt Disney, Audrey Hepburn, Ava Gardener, Grace Kelly, Cary Grant, and Steve McQueen are just a few names that appear in the reservations of her hotel’s fascinating history. During the German occupation of Paris some of the highest ranking Nazis imposed themselves on the hotel by choosing to live here, which doesn’t surprise me since they were known for their great taste in hotels, and…well…being the worst people ever. Françoise wasn’t around then, but I’m sure if she was she would have strongly objected to the whole thing, given how she feels about foreigners coming in and trying to acquire the place.

Nowadays the Hotel Raphael doesn’t seem to need a full service spa or twenty-four hour room service to earn its five stars. I love everything about it just the way it is and I hope they never change it. There is just the right amount of patina to make you wonder what these floral wallpapers and crown moldings would say if they could talk. If they did, maybe they would mention me, twenty-eight years young in my five star hotel room, polishing off a Laduree birthday cake while I still have the privilege of being unreasonable.

The most peculiar thing about it though is that it’s only ever written. People stopped speaking in it sometime around the early 19th century. And so it has become a traditional literary language. Imagine a character we know to be existing in the past recounting something to us in the present, as though it’s happening to them now. However, we know them to be living in the past. Now imagine a whole tense for just this sort of situation, that is more grammatically precise and yet poetically open. Le passé simple somehow manages to make sense of a time warp, this conundrum of existing in multiple times at once through literature, history, art, storytelling…on a page at least.

So imagine my surprise and confusion (for someone who is French second language like me) when I arrived in Caracassonne for a tour of this historical fortified city and find my tour guide keeps speaking in the le passé simple…out loud. This wasn’t a play, but what a performance it was. I suppose if ever there were a time and place to evoke the passé simple from one’s mouth, it would be my very quick visit here. Our day there and this place itself seemed to transcend time entirely. It’s hard to understand where either really began or ended, but I will do my best to explain both.

I didn’t know much about Carcassonne going into it this day, but as you approach from a distance you can see the walls of the old city circling the castle on the hill. The precursors to these walls were initially outlined over 5000 years ago by the Gauls before the Romans eventually settled it and fortified the hilltop. Kasia and I could spot it from afar as we approached just in time for lunch after an early morning drive from Avignon. It’s funny that this ended up being our route, because on this scenic drive we actually managed to traverse the majority of the ancient Roman region of Septimania that they seceded to the Visigoths a few centuries after Christ, subsequently losing their hold on Carcassonne. 

We met our press contact from the local tourism office to share a meal before our marathon visit through the castle. We learned quickly that the thing to eat in this southern region of France is cassoulet, and when in Rome, do as the Romans do. However this place has not actually been part of the Roman empire since that epic defeat by the Visigoths, so in this case do as the Carcassonnians don’t because our local press contact actually became a vegan somewhere in history and cassoulet is anything but vegan. Maybe she just ate too much cassoulet and couldn’t do it anymore? I could understand that. This ultra rich dish of white beans, pork skin, and a variety of other amazing flavors is slow cooked in a deep round cassole until it’s ready to melt in your mouth. It’s as heavy as it is delicious. For the non vegan residents of the region it remains a strong tradition. There are cassoulet cook-offs with century long rivals all boasting superior recipes and battling it out for the title of the best. Topped off with a coffee, it was the perfect meal to fortify us for our journey through five millenniums that afternoon.

At the entrance to the chateau we met our tour guide. He looked like someone who had jumped out the pages of a Victor Hugo novel, and he talked like one too in his passé simple discourse. Kasia and I followed him into the chateau that was initially built somewhere around the 13th century by the first French kings to rule over it after the defeat of the Visigoths. All in all it has 58 towers, one of which housed the Catholic Inquisition and is still known as “The Inquisition Tower.” Fractions of the chateau walls are notably different. The are still remnants of their Roman origins, while the medieval walls have the tell-tale red brick layers and the shallow pitch terracotta tile roofs. This is a recurring theme in the architecture of the old Carcassonne. The castle and its surroundings upon closer look are like a patchwork or history, the fabric of time sewn together and folded upon itself with holes from battles and failed invasions over so many centuries.

It wasn’t too long after Carcassonne officially become part of France in the 13th century that the British already wanted to take it away. During The Hundred Years’ War, Edward the Black Prince tried to conquer the city, but the fortress was too strong. His quest failed and Carcassonne has remained French ever since. It was demilitarized under Napoleon and the Restoration, and the fortified cité of Carcassonne fell into such disrepair that the French government decided that it should be demolished. The architect Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, already at work restoring the Basilica of Saint-Nazaire here that was first constructed by the Visigoths, was commissioned to renovate it in its entirety. Overall, Viollet-le-Duc’s achievement preserving and restoring Carcassonne is agreed to be a work of genius, although not without its imperfections and being heavily criticized in his own time.

On our visit, there seemed to be no end to this massive castle. Just as you’ve made your way through it you circle back to its beginning and can relive it all again with the scope of another century if you like. Several hours flew by here and time seemed to escape us as we travelled through it chasing our guide, jumping from its many pasts to our present, standing in the breeze on the castle walls, staring out over the region and imagining the city below that swelled and shrunk around this fortress through time.

I cannot pretend to comprehend even a small fraction of the complex history of Carcassonne. Even if I did, I couldn’t fit it on these pages, nor would I want to rob anyone of such an education first hand by journeying here. The reach of religion, ethnicity, empire, and nation that have touched Carcassonne span centuries. Everything is relative and time is no exception. Yesterday can be measured in minutes or millenniums, perhaps a distant past and yet not necessarily remote, open to interpretation with only one exception — it is over and done with. For visitors to Carcassonne today, somehow the ages within these walls all exist simultaneously, as we are left to navigate the pages of its time in this conundrum of the past and present existing all at once. Carcassonne is the perfect passé simple in a place where the past is anything but simple.

From the walls around the castle of Carcassonne you can peer over onto a little secret garden. Kasia and I spotted this place and wondered about it, only to be delighted when we later found it was the hotel where we would be spending the night. Sleeping at a five start hotel within a UNESCO world heritage site is a real treat, especially here once learning about its history. Hotel de la Cité is a family owned and run business. It was acquired long ago by the current owner’s mother, and passed down to her children. Her daughter is the general manager and greeted us in the evening for a quick tour to reveal some of the historic hotel’s many secrets.

One glance at the guestbook and it is clear that this hotel has long been the choice of the elite who have visited Carcassonne. Walt Disney, Princess Grace of Monaco (Grace Kelly), Frank Sinatra and many more royals, rich, and highly regarded people of the last century have spent the night here in one of its 47 rooms and 13 suites since its grand opening in 1913, including #218 named after Viollet-Le-Duc himself who renovated Carcassonne. The Grand Livre de Cuisine has also been preserved by the family, containing many precious recipes from the kitchen here served over the years.

La Barbacane restaurant in the hotel today is a Michelin Star. Kasia and I headed here to debrief after a long day of sightseeing over a delicious five course dinner. We felt we had been mistaken for movie stars with a special menu just for us from the chef. We started with cocktails from the the hotel’s bartender, Gaet, who makes his own vermouth he’s named Rigolo and serves with a huge smile. His cocktails are a works of art and taste as good as they look. Later when we moved onto wine, the house sommelier stayed a while to talk with us about Carcassonne as a major wine region and the nearby vineyards.

At last, I settled into my cozy room that night to enjoy one last view of the castle from my window, illuminated in the night and glowing on the hilltop, before falling into a deep sleep at the end of a long and fascinating day, dreaming of returning to this hotel in summer when the garden pool and terrace with a view or even more inviting.

While the old fortress of Carcassonne is the center of tourism and the most visited area of the city, there is also the charming lower town, or Ville Basse,  that is historic although more recent. I regret not having more time to explore this area of Carcassonne and get to know more locals, but we did pop down quickly to get acquainted. The Place Carnot at its center is a good enough place to begin, surrounded by cafés and where you’ll often find the local market. Nearby shops sell regional goods and yet another beautiful cathedral is just steps away.

One last attraction in Carcassonne is the Canal du Midi. The Canal du Midi is 241 km long stretching across the South of France from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic. Upon its construction in the 17th century, it was considered to be one of the greatest technological achievements in history. As Carcassonne is strategically positioned between these two bodies of water, the Canal du Midi passes through it. Just across from the train station you can watch as barges sail through this system of water ways leveling out their aquatic route. You can take cruises on the canal as well, or charter a private journey across it, stopping along the way in Carcassonne and elsewhere to take in the sites.

Maison Kitsuné jacket, Chanel boots, H&M overalls, vintage beret, Mūun basket, and Kasia Dietz tote.

I managed to sleep off my bad mood on the one hour flight and arrive to Nice by 11AM in the perfect state of zen. Sleep does wonders for me, so no more complaining from here on out. Arriving to the Côte d’Azur is not just literal, but figurative as well. This place can be so surreal it makes you just look around and think “I’ve made it…this is the life…I have arrived.” The sign at the airport in Nice reads “Gateway to the Côte d’Azur” like you’ve just stepped through a portal to paradise. That’s what it feels like too, but this time arriving in Nice was actually returning to something familiar for me. I knew what was awaiting me.

I was greeted out of the gate by some familiar faces from the tourism board that had welcomed me on a past trip, so this time felt a bit like coming back to visit old friends for new adventures. The more I travel the more I realise that it’s the people that make a place, not just the location, and dwelling in the details of the lives of those that are lucky enough to call this place home is something I really love. These familiar faces and the drive from the Nice airport to the center of town couldn’t have been a better reintroduction. That stretch of turquoise blue coastline is mesmerising. I just stared out the window repeating over and over again how happy I was to be back. Nice is not just the gateway to the Côte d’Azur, it’s also like a gateway drug to the Côte d’Azur, because it’s lovely, but as you will see, it is just the beginning. This place will wrap you in fantasy and sunshine for as long as you stay. Even on a grey day, which is rare here, the sea sparkles and the rainbow buildings color the coastline.

After a nice four course lunch at the Bistrot du Port we took a cruise to admire Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat and Villefranche-sur-Mer from the sea. Our captain’s introduction to the real estate on the Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat was only confirmation that this place really is where people come when they have “arrived”. Villas here go for hundreds of millions of euros and are owned by the world’s rich and famous. Sometimes I think I’m satisfied with a modest life, but one look at these properties is enough to make me greedy again for a moment and fantasise about making a fortune large enough to be able to call one home away from home. But there is a place for everyone on the Côte d’Azur. You don’t have to be rich or famous to enjoy this place in style as I’ve discovered on my several trips here. So much so that I’ve (seriously) considered moving here. In fact, the last time I was here I was with somebody rich, and famous, and I can tell you that in reality that is no way to live. Back this time with my anonymity and modest means I broke away from my tour guides and wandered the city, only to find that very person’s face on the cover of the tabloids at every newsstand with a new girl in tow. It felt surreal, another strange moment of “is this real life?” on the Côte d’Azur. So, I headed to the Promenade des Anglais and parked myself in one of the iconic blue chairs (the southern counterpart of our green park chairs in Paris) for a bit of reflection, staring out at the sea, watching the sunset, and wondering how my life would play out as a normal girl (woman).

But the next few days of life here were hardly normal. They soared above average on this beautiful tour of France’s second most popular region (after Paris). I never cease to be amazed at all the variety Côte d’Azur has to offer. The next morning we were up bright and early to head to Grasse in the hills behind Cannes. These “hills” are actually the small mountainous beginnings of the Maritime Alps. A bit further and you can actually find ski stations. I think the Côte d’Azur must be one of only a handful of places in the world you could ski and swim at the beach in the same day. But I diverge.

We went to Grasse to learn more about this olfactory world capital. The morning started at the offices of M. Micallef. I actually had no idea that M. was a woman. Silly me for assuming otherwise before meeting her face to face, and what a woman Martine is. It only takes a few minutes with her to tell she loves what she does. She started her fragrance house, M. Micallef, twenty years ago with her husband. She wanted to leave a corporate career and pursue her passion, which she puts into every one of the hundreds if not thousands of fragrance bottles for her own brand and others for whom she has designed over these two decades. She keeps one of each in a rather massive and growing archive in her office — an entire wall that opens up into a closet that she let us poke around in. Her crystal bottles are fired right here in the ovens, decorated by hand by her employees, packaged to perfection and shipped off to nearly 60 countries around the world. I love to dive into the creative minds of entrepreneurs. Martine was so open, talking with us for hours and letting us into her creative process for fragrance concepts — the women, exotic scents, shapes, and mood that inspire her. I blushed when Martine said I had a bit of Brigitte Bardot in me, a “femme enfant sensuelle” for which she assigned me the perfect fragrance as a gift, Ylang in Gold, that is sweet and soft yet sophisticated. It’s become one of my favorite scents and a gift from a fascinating woman that I will treasure.

Later that afternoon in Grasse we explored the town’s tiny streets and shops, popping in to meet other local parfumeurs. Grasse has had a prospering perfume industry since the end of the 18th century, and is considered to be the perfume capital of the world. It produces over two thirds of France’s natural aromas, and its microclimate makes it a lush location for the flower farming industry. But before it was a fragrance capital, Grasse had a huge leather tanning business, though the odeur left from the leather didn’t please the city’s nobel residents. So, they began producing fragrances to mask the scent which eventually became the principal business of the region today. The local economy depends on it, employing thousands in the region.

In Grasse, the town and France’s fragrance history is on display at the Musée du Parfum. If a morning at M. Micallef was not enough to inspire me to become a packaging designer, I went a bit crazy documenting the hundreds of flacons on display at this museum. It is truly a designer’s dream come true in here. The other big museum in Grasse is Fragonard, which I had visited before and also recommend. Many of the original perfumers like Fragonard that started in Grasse are still in business today. Another is Galimard, whom you can visit and compose your own fragrance as well as I did later that afternoon. 

I can tell you, I have since realised I have no hidden talent for concocting fragrances. I like what I like and I refuse to compromise to make something that might appeal to someone else’s taste. I picked the sweetest scents time and time again, and my nose at Galimard told me I needed to balance them out with something on the other end of the spectrum. Of course she was right but I am stubborn. I even cheated a  bit adding more vanilla, more almond, and so one into my measuring flask when she wasn’t looking. At the end when it come time to name our fragrances she asked me to bestow a fitting name upon my scent for it’s label. “I shall call it Bonne Vivante” I declared. “That’s not a very sophisticated name” she told me. “All the better, I’m not a very sophisticated woman.” I am sweet, playful, indulgent, and a bit over the top just like this fragrance so let’s just call a spade and spade. What matters is I love my scent, it smells like a candy store.

A busy day ended with a relaxing evening at the foot of Mougins at the Le Mas de Candille where we tucked in for the night before heading off to Cannes the next morning. The sun greeted us bright and early and after a coffee on my terrace at this beautiful five star hotel, we departed for Cannes. Cannes is always a bit of a show. Its film festival reputation literally proceeds it with the giant mural of Marilyn Monroe’s face painted onto the building of an old hotel on the outskirts as you head into town. Luxury shops line the rue d’Antibes, and just in front on the Croisette are the iconic hotels with their waterfront views, namely The Ritz and The Martinez which you can’t miss.

But just in front of Cannes there is another kind of place entirely, where a group of people has foregone the glamour and luxury for a simple life — the monks at the Abbaye de Lérins. This abbey is found on the Ile Saint Honorat and tended to by a few dozen monks that call it home. Their kind has been here for a few centuries now, tending to the vines from which they produce their wine that is bottled and sold to support the monastic operations. We had a rendezvous with them for a charity lunch that we were lucky enough to be invited to. To be honest, I had been nervous about this lunch all week. Despite that I grew up going to Catholic school, religion is something I’ve opted out of and nowadays I just wasn’t sure I would have much to say to a monk, in French no less. But seeing as they spend 99% of their time avoiding small talk and living in silence, when they do get the chance to speak they are more than happy to do most of the talking. Good news for me. Their silence was lifted for the occasion of the auction for proceeds that go to a variety of charities benefiting children. After a delicious lunch within the clos walls next to their vines, we headed to the small castle next door on the water for the auction. After that we walked the perimeters of this beautiful island before heading back to the mainland.

I had only one thing on my agenda for the rest of the day, to enjoy the sunshine and warm indian summer on the Croisette. I wanted to put my toes in the sand and feet in the water, drop my head back to feel the sun on my face and the sea breeze blowing in my hair. In early October there are still beach goers on the Côte d’Azur. It’s plenty warm enough still, and with most the crowds gone, it’s sort of ideal in fact. I found myself at the end of the pier at the Carlton, shoes off watching fishes in the water and staring out at this beautiful blue stretch of coastline.

A few months back I found out that an old friend of mine from high school that I had fallen out of touch with, fell in love with Frenchie from Nice and ended up married and living on the Côte d’Azur running an art business. Lucky duck, now if that doesn’t sound like the beginnings of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel I don’t know what does. She was meant to pass through Cannes late that afternoon and we were all set to meet up for a drink. I sat on the end of the The Carlton’s pier thinking how lucky she was to live here when my phone rang to tell me that she had arrived. I got up to meet her and saw her walking down the boardwalk looking not a day older than when I saw her last (sailing in Greece I think?). We gave each other a big hug in the sunshine and laughed about how if you told us ten years ago as high school girls from a small town that we would see each other next here in Cannes, both living on the other side of the world in France, we would have never believed you. Isn’t it exciting all the places that life can take you? Let me tell you, it can be really special too when it unexpectedly takes you back to your beginnings, a marker in time to remind you just how far you’ve come. Everything in between A. and I caught up on over rosé on the Croisette and promised it wouldn’t be so long until we saw each other next.

After an amazing dinner at Le Mantel, I spent my last night on the Cote d’Azur at the beautiful Villa Garbo. When you check into a fancy hotel in Cannes, you can’t help but wonder what kind of stars have stayed in the room before you. You can ask but staff are discrete, they really won’t give you names. That evening I spent one of the last warm nights of the year sitting on the beautiful terrace attached to my room with the moon above me and three beautiful days on the Côte d’Azur behind me, thinking how I didn’t want to leave this place the next day.

The next morning I woke up early for my last adventure here until next time — a beautiful drive in the Citroën DS along the coast to the Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. It was a Sunday morning so the roads were quiet and the coastline so peaceful. The sun had just come up, and we snuggled up in the back with blankets watching the locals come out for their morning swims and dog walking. It was my first time taking the coastal route from Cannes to Nice (and beyond) and the whole way I just kept finding more reasons I needed to come back. We passed the Hotel du Cap Eden Roc and I recalled Slim Aaron’s famous photograph of this place — his images were some of the first that ever made me dream of the French Riviera. In that moment, sitting in the back of this beautiful car with the wind blowing through my hair and the turquoise sea beside me, I can tell you it lives up to every one one of those dreams of this place that I ever had.

Our driver dropped us at the foot of Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild, almost back where I had started the first day looking over the Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. I had been wanting to visit this place since a friend told me about it several years ago. This pink villa on the hill with its extensive gardens is the dream come true of an eccentric baroness that bequeathed it to the state upon her death for us all to enjoy now.  I was so happy to check this one off the bucket list, but I’ll be back. I spent a while in the gardens on my own cherishing the views, the weather, all the beautiful stories of the last couple days before my ride for the airport came to get me.

As we pulled into the airport we passed beneath the sign that reads “kiss and fly” which is exactly what I did. I kissed goodbye to my new and old friends who I would leave here on the Côte d’Azur and flew back to Paris. As I did I thought how lucky anyone would be to come to this place just once in their life, and for me how lucky I am to come back here. I know it won’t be the last time. There is still so much more to see…

But then when I was eighteen that all changed. I went on study abroad and spent the greater part of six months crammed into buses and tiny hotels with a group of strangers in far off places. It was a blast. Now I live for that sort of thing. Meeting new people used to terrify me, now it’s my favorite pastime. After two summers with Medsailors, I can kind of imagine what I might have missed out on. Medsailors is like summer camp for adults, except instead of a dumpy cabin upstate you’re on a beautiful sailboat on some of the most spectacular water in the world.

Before going back this summer with Emily we were like “There’s no way it can live up to last year. Our group was just too good. Can Josh be our skipper again? Do you think Freddie will be there?” and so on. We were so excited about the people we almost forgot we would also be visiting one of the most beautiful countries in the world — Croatia. This year we were veterans. We knew exactly what to bring and what not to bring. We knew the ropes. Everything was going to go smoothly and be a blast. With some rocky beginnings due to travel and baggage complications, once I was finally aboard everything was smooth sailing. My two trips thus far with Medsailors have been so distinct and yet they both finish the same. Like the end of summer camp, you don’t want to say goodbye to all your new friends. You don’t want to leave your tiny home aboard this boat. Maybe you even fell in love, with a person or with a place. And as you leave you already can’t wait to go back next summer, to do it all again. But no summer, and no sailing trip can ever be the same. With Medsailors though, they can always be great…

One look down at Dubrovnik along the highway from the airport high above the coastline, and you can understand why this place is the perfect backdrop for fantasy (perhaps you have watched Game of Thrones? This is King’s Landing). From its beginning in the 7th century, to its golden years of maritime trade in the 1500’s, to events as recent as the 1990’s during the dismantling of the former Yugoslavia, it is a city steeped in history.  Today it is a happy bustling fortress, warmed in the glow of early evening sunshine, with beautiful ships sailing along the horizon in front. The sea washes up to kiss its old walls sending tiny little crabs scurrying around to watch. Music and amazing seafood fill its stone paved pedestrian streets and flocks of swallows circle above making nests in the rooftops of its old buildings. What a place to begin a journey and definitely one worth spending a day enjoying, especially to walk its castle walls and take it all in from above. I arrived here feeling deflated after my bag was somehow lost in limbo on a layover in the Czech Republic, without even so much as a bathing suit. Of course this would happen to me and ruin this trip because that was just my luck this summer. After a few hours spent at a strip mall stocking up on the necessities I was able to join Emily and Josh in the old town for a sundowner glass of wine on the rocks outside of the fortified walls. I couldn’t have wished for two better people to cheer me up and make everything alright. The next morning before boarding the boat I wasn’t about to leave my luggage situation in the hands of the airport, so I cabbed it back there and begged the security guard to let me into the baggage claim and wait for the next flight from Prague to hopefully arrive with my bag they misplaced the day before. It was down to the wire because I had one hour to get the bag and to the port before our boat embarked for the first island. Luckily it all worked out in my favour. I arrived to the docks with a few minutes to spare and out of breath. I hopped aboard, met my new crew for this year, and set off for the islands. I took a deep breath as we passed under the bridge out of the harbour and left all the stress behind me. One week of smooth sailing with Rachel, our skipper, at the helm. Full speed ahead.

Our first stop on our voyageur route was a quiet, calm, and sweet little introduction to the Croatian islands. That is until the Euro Cup game with Croatia vs. Spain went on that night in the town’s only bar. If you want to get to know a country, visit during the largest football (Americans please read “soccer) match of the year. Families gather and people chain smoke and drink beer on the edge of their seats hoping for a goal. The tension was palpable and of course I was rooting for the home team. By accident I wore a red and white stripe shirt that night, the national colors of croatia, so every time I went to the bar I got served first for my team spirit. Trust me, I felt as sad as the locals when we lost that night. That’s little Šipan today but historically the island is quite interesting. During the 15th century it was a chic summer getaway for the very best Dubrovnik families, many of whom built palaces on the island, some of which can still be found there today.

When we arrived in Mljet Rachel told us to rent bikes in the small town and cycle over to the national park to see the natural lake and the monastery on the island in the center. An island within an island? Croatia really is an incredible place. What nobody told us though was that the climb up the hill in the summer heat is b-r-u-t-a-l. Emily and I learned that the hard way but we pedalled through the pain and made it over. We rewarded ourselves with a little skinny dip on a tiny beach on the quiet side of the lake. We never did make it to the monastery, somethings are just as nice admired from afar, and the swim was worth it. When we made it back, exhausted, we could tell the joke was on us, but Rachel promised it was for the best because if we knew how tough the ride was we might have never gone. And you know what? She was right. Later that evening Josh, Emily, and I shopped for little sea sponges, ate ice cream, and watched the sunset from the bow.

Korçula was my favorite island of this whole trip. In fact, if I told you to go to just one place in Croatia, this is it. Everything about this island is purely precious. It’s attractive to tourists, but I could tell it’s a favorite of Croatians themselves to come with their families. Emily and I took a long walk around the perimeter of Starigrad in the early evening and the most majestic little scenes played out all around us. Sweet little girls selling seashells on the sidewalk, a symphony playing a public concert in a courtyard next to the old fortress, kids fishing with their grandparents, babies learning to swim, French jazz floating out from café terraces, couple’s taking dancing lessons on the deck of their sailboats, and the most spectacular sunset. This is paradise. I thought the day couldn’t get any better but at the stroke of midnight it would become the 28th of June, and my 28th birthday. To celebrate Josh, Marcus and I set up a “throne zone” on the bow of their boat. We kidnapped Emily’s computer while she was out and downloaded the season finale of Game of Thrones. All snuggled up in the open air, we watched the most epic episode of all time while the huge yellow full moon rose up from behind the mountains on the mainland across the way. A summer storm was accumulating in the distance and the thunder added to the drama, but it held off until the episode was over. It was one of my favorite birthdays and frankly moments of my life. I could not imagine a more majestic theatre or more magic moment to welcome twenty-eighth year.

The rest of my birthday was spent on the other side of Korçula in Vela Luka after a good day’s swim of along the way. We enjoyed swimming so much we were too lat to get a slot at the harbour so we anchored offshore a bit and were taxied by the crew in the dingy to and from shore. The water was rocky and it was sort of terrifying and thrilling to jump in and out. Once ashore, Emily and I walked to the other side of the bay and found ourselves a little pier off the beach club to dive and swim. The sun was low in the sky and everything was sparkling. I wanted to stay forever but we had to go back to eat the most delicious pizza in Croatia with our boat. Before calling it a night, Emily, Josh, and I got one last drink in a little bar ashore. They asked me what my birthday wish was and I told them to set all the lobsters in the tank free. My wish still hasn’t come true.

Hvar is the only island in Croatia I had been to before this trip, and I had one thing on my mind. I wanted to go back to Bonj les Bains beach club which is one of my favorite places on earth. Emily and I went over to the island (the harbor is actually across the way) early to get in the last hours of the day here, sipping sparkling water and swimming in the sea when not relaxing on our luxury lounge chairs. Afterward, we cleaned up and headed into town to browse the little shops and find some dinner before we came across Josh. The three of us walked around the island that night, getting lost on little streets and eventually ended up drinking bad red wine, sitting around on lounge chairs at the Hula Hula club and serenading each other. On the boat ride back to the the Medsailors harbor everything was so dark on the sea. As we drove fast through the night I tilted my head back and looked up at the stars, and at the risk of sounding so damn cheesy, just felt incredible to be alive.

I cannot speak for all of Croatia I suppose, but from what I have seen on my two trips around its islands is that not only is it geographically spectacular but it is also incredibly friendly. People here are so welcoming and happy. Multiple times I accidentally gave way too much money to people in shops or at the ferry and could have easily walked away without noticing but they were always honest and gave it back to me. It is next to impossible to get a bad meal wherever we went, and everything is affordable. If you’re not sailing with a company, you can fly into either Dubrovnik or Split and take ferries between the islands. Croatia is such an ideal summer location. The islands still feel authentic but are tourist friendly, its busy without ever feeling overcrowded, and the water is some of the cleanest I have swam in. I already cannot wait to go back to this beautiful place.

A very big thanks for Medsailors for inviting me back for a second season. I cannot say enough good things about their sailing trips. My moments aboard with them have been some of the travel highlights of my life, and there is something to be said about making beautiful sailing experiences fun and accessible. I already can’t wait for next year. Please check out their trips on their website, and if you end up hopping aboard tell them Haleigh sent you.

One of the things I like about Italy is when you arrive somewhere new and have no idea what to do, you just head straight for the piazza in the middle. It kind of seems like all roads lead to there. Everything you need is going to be here: a good restaurant, a gelato place, a pharmacy, and in this case the Gravati flagship store. Gravati is the factory that we came to film, and also the name of the family that has owned and run it since WWII. Since then…not much has changed there.

At 8AM after the owner of our bed and breakfast has tried to bribe me with homemade pastries to film his humble property from above with my drone, Mattia picks us up. He is here to take us to the factory. He also turns out  to be my favorite Vigevanoan but at this point we have just met. From what I can tell he is not the kind of guy that walks to work. How do I know that? Because smack between his office and the town parking lot is the restaurant where we would later have lunch. Mattia will park his car here, walk to the restaurant, then walk back to the car to drive us to his office, even though it is exactly the same distance between the three. I’m not a geographer but this will make no sense to me. Before the car though and after Mattia has teased me for ordering a cappuccino at lunchtime (because an Italian would never do such a thing), we will stop in front of the Gravati store in the piazza. Mattia will be upset that they have permitted a french fry shop to go in next door, and the three of us will agree unanimously that this is a crime before a woman with a goat on a leash passes us to distract us from the outrage. Mattia will kindly ask why the goat is out like this and she will explain that he needs to socialise. Then, the three of us will continue licking our gelato, puzzled as we stare at the shoes in the shop window that we watched being made that morning.

Which brings me back to 8AM. When we arrive at the Gravati factory a few minutes later it is clear we are the last to show up for work. It is noisy and there is something going on everywhere I look, which overwhelms me because there are a million things I want to film and only a few hours to do it. We are greeted by Ettore Gravati, who speaks next to no English, hence why we have brought Mattia, who is also Sarah’s production manager. Ettore looks like the Big Friendly Giant; he is tall and a bit shy but warms up to my camera just enough as he dives into the family history of the factory.

He takes us upstairs to the stitching and cutting department and I feel like I have showed up in a time machine. My brand new Sony camera, that I debuted for the first time on this job, looks out of place amongst machinery that has clearly been here since the 1950’s. Ladies are milling away, cutting and stitching leathers. As I poke my lens into their work space not a single one of them objects, confused at first but then greeting me with a smile and trying their best to understand me. I once read a book called “How to Speak Italian”, that is actually just pictures of ornate hand gestures. This comes in handy quite a bit and we all get on just fine.

Downstairs we meet Cesare, Ettore’s brother who is also quite shy about this camera situation. He is equally as old school as his brother, wearing his white lab coat over menswear in some very 1970’s tones. Sarah whispers to me that Cesare inspects every single shoe personally before it goes in the box. Now that is quality control. I later witness this for myself before Cesare realises I am filming him and blushes to a halt. It is clear that each brother keeps a careful eye on every detail of the process as we move along. Obviously, both of them are wearing great shoes themselves because Gravati happens to make some of the most well crafted shoes in the world. In fact, they are some of the rare if not the only people left actually making shoes from start to finish as Sarah and Mattia have both explained to me. Everything except the cow leather itself is made and assembled right here in their factory, overseen by these two brothers and their employees, many of which who like Ettore and Cesare are not the first generation of their family to work here. Each of them is more or less specialised in one to two tasks. I would have the pleasure of interacting with almost all of them following Sarah’s FW16 Valentina boot, named after the daughter of Ettore, as it makes its way down the assembly line. Valentina is the English speaker of the family, and deals with most of the inquiries from abroad. Later her very friendly brother emerges, also speaking English enthusiastically. The rest of the family seems to get nervous when he talks too much to us, perhaps because they just don’t understand him in English, which leads me to imagine some funny Italian family dynamics around the situation as if he might be the brother that tends to put his foot in his mouth. To us he was nothing but kind and sensible with his words, telling us we are welcome back anytime. Perhaps this is what the family was concerned about, us returning to poke my camera around their work stations again.

Throughout the day in the factory, I love seeing each person’s precious objects in their work space: a little cross or shrine, some photographs here and there. They are little hints and clues for that nosey side of me to complete the details of their life outside the factory. I wonder if they like their job, if they have families, if they like getting up early in the morning to come to work, if they will go to church on their lunch break or home to take a nap, and so on. I suppose some stay here, because at some point we reach a tanning machine that passes shoes through an open oven on small conveyor belts to heat the leather. Mattia tells us that some of the workers will toast their paninis on it. I think he is joking but he is dead serious which I am thrilled about because that is precisely the sort of insanely Italian things I imagine going on here. But other cliches of Italians do not uphold here. The Gravati family means business, they always deliver on time and they are the only manufacturers Mattia works with whom he does not have to chase with phone calls to sort out issues. Ettore and Cesare will often ring Mattia up themselves if they are just not satisfied with something they have done, and do it over until it’s to their standards of perfection.

I cannot help but wonder, worry in fact, that someday we will cease to make things this way entirely. That artisans and true craftsmanship are fast becoming a thing of the past, and in our near future we will cease to find objects produced like this at all. The reality is that Gravati is one of the few remaining places in the world to make shoes this way. It saddens me to think that this kind of manufacturing is now a novelty, and I fear that sooner rather than later beautifully made things will die off with a generation while they were out priced by robots in sterile factories in far off corners of the world to satisfy the world’s constant demand for quantity over quality. Here, things are made with humanity. In a single pair of shoes there is the thought and care of no less than twenty people whom lead simple and beautiful lives in this sweet little suburb of Milan where all you need to be happy is a nice pair of shoes, a bike, and a dog (or goat) to walk around the piazza.

At the end of the day when the shoes are made the work bell rings. One by one the workers file out of the factory, hop on their bikes, and head off into town becoming one of the many people that I will enjoy observing in the piazza for the next two days. Before I left Vigevano I bought a pair of Gravati shoes for myself — some little black heeled loafers. In the shop I inspect them, looking at every detail like Cesare did before they went in the box, and remembering how I watched them being made by hand. I put them on to walk around the town that evening and wear in the buttery leather a bit. I realise now, I will never be able to look at a pair of shoes the same way again. During my little trip to Vigevano I literally and figuratively walked a mile in this town’s shoes. And let me tell you…they are very Italian, very nice, and very beautiful.

Many thanks to Sarah for hiring me to come along on this little trip. And of course to the Gravati family for letting us have a look around. Mattia for being a great ambassador for Vigevano and along with Sarah, teaching me a lot about shoes. And lastly, Jostein for the beautiful music in this little film, and Patrick for translating my interviews into English thanks to his excellent Italian language skills.

Sultanahmet is one of the oldest and most historic areas of Istanbul. This is where the original city of Constantinople was and where you will find most of the Byzantine (post Roman) history still remaining in the city. It is also the home of the Grand Bazaar, the cistern, Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque, and so much more. It’s one of the most conservative neighbourhoods as well, so it creates a cultural juxtaposition between the tourist and the locals. I lived here for three months, and now after seeing more of Istanbul, aside from the monuments themselves it is not my favourite neighbourhood to spend time in. I think you can cover its sites in one day, and use the rest of your time elsewhere in the city.

Eyptian Bazaar — Also often referred to as the Spice Bazaar, this is one of the largest bazaars in the city. Located in the Eminönü quarter of the Fatih district, it is the most famous covered shopping complex after the Grand Bazaar. This is the place to shop for Iranian saffron, Egyptian sponges, Turkish delight, baklava, and any array of spices, dried fruits, or desserts you can imagine. You can also find many wonderful dried teas here. Fatih/İstanbul, Turkey

Grand Bazaar — The Grand Bazaar in Istanbul is one of the largest and oldest covered markets in the world, with 61 covered streets and over 3,000 shops which attract between 250,000 and 400,000 visitors daily. Opened in 1455, this the place to shop for leather goods, tea sets, linens, antique and new jewelry, rugs, and more. The Grand Bazaar has four main gates situated at the ends of its two major streets which intersect near the southwestern corner of the bazaar.  Beyazıt, İstanbul, Turkey

The Süleymaniye Mosque is an Ottoman imperial mosque located on the Third Hill of Istanbul, Turkey. It is the largest mosque in the city, and one of the best-known sights of Istanbul. It was constructed in 1550 and the most beautiful mostly for enjoying the surrounding gardens, fountains, and small graveyards. I have been inside in the past, but chose to forego entering again this trip as I did not want to condone the forced covering of women in the Islamic tradition. Süleymaniye, 34116 İstanbul, Turkey

The Basilica Cistern, is the largest of several hundred ancient cisterns that lie beneath the city of Istanbul. While it is a less frequented tourist destination it is absolutely a must visit in my mind. Its cold and damp atmosphere cooled us off from the heat of summer. You can navigate its glowing columns lining the underground pool via a series of pedestrian bridges that lead to the famous statue of Medusa. Alemdar Mh., Yerebatan Cd. 1/3, 34410 Fatih/İstanbul, Turkey

Hagia Sophia is a former Christian patriarchal basilica. It was built in 537 as the Church of the Holy Wisdom (Hagia Sophia) by Byzantine Emperor at the time the city was still Constantinople. It was later renovated and adapted to become an imperial mosque during the Ottoman era. The remnants of both of its religious purposes are evident at present, mixing arabic murals with orthodox mosaics. Today it is a museum also called Ayasofya, and because it is no longer a place of worship, women can enter freely without being forced to cover their head.Sultan Ahmet, Ayasofya Meydanı, Fatih/İstanbul, Turkey

Karaköy is in fact a lower part of Beyoğlu nearer to the water. It’s waterfront is lined with cafés and boats, while a few streets in you can find some more modern and yet still authentic tastes of Istanbul, including Karaköy Gulluoglu which is a spectacular and famous dessert place featuring an enormous array of Baklava, Koska for a selection of Turkish Delight, La Cité Française which is a covered passage featuring some chic restaurants, and another trendy corridor with an array of shops, cafes, and bakeries where you will find Dandin Bakery, one of our favourite food finds on the trip.

This traditional Ottoman eatery with a modern vibe (thanks to its colorful tiled interior) is a must visit for dinner. Every night there is a nice crowd that you can tell is a mix of in-the-know locals and trendy travelers which makes it a happening atmosphere. The food is delicious, and the staff friendly as it is actually the restaurant attached to and run by the same owners of Karaköy Rooms. I definitely recommend it for dining and if you’re there on the weekend, you may want to reserve to be sure you can get a table. Kemankeş Karamustafa Paşa Mh., Kemankeş Cd No:37/A, İstanbul, Turkey

Dandin Bakery is a sweet and friendly spot that is open from early morning to late at night for whatever you might be craving. It has more of a western vibe, but definitely seems to be a local’s favourite too. They have adorable cakes, great coffee (iced too!) and savory snacks including a delicious breakfast selection for a “toad in the hole” toast and eggs or muesli with fresh berries and yogurt. They also have an adorable dog that lives here and goes around visiting the customers and begging them for some cheese (his favourite). The staff was really lovely to us and the tables are plenty if you want to sit and relax a while. Kemankeş Karamustafa Paşa Mh., Kemankeş Cd No:37/A, İstanbul, Turkey

Taking a cruise on the Bosphorus is one of the best ways to understand the geography of Istanbul and just how expansive it is. The Bosphorus is the body of water that connects the Marmara and the Black Sea, and spans much of Istanbul. These cruises depart from the Sultanahmet side of the Galata Bridge every several hours. I recommend you to take the short tour, or the loop tour, on the Bosphorus line. The cruise will pass under the bridges and takes you past the gorgeous fishing villages that line the shores of the city. You can also see the many Ottoman style mansions that have now been turned into hotels, universities, and country clubs. The tour lasts about two hours.

These are perhaps the two closest and most visited of the Bosphorus fishing village areas. Here you can begin to see a more chic side of Istanbul where many of the affluent go to dine, shop, and hang out. You can hop off the Bosphorus boat tour in Bebek if you like, and go either way by foot to explore. I used to spend many afternoons in Bebek at cafés with friends, as my university, Bogaziçi, was just above. Each afternoon we would walk down the hill when classes were done and stay here until the evening hanging out and studying.

I was curious to see this hotel as it opened the year after I lived in Istanbul. Of course being a Four Seasons it is ultra luxury, which means it is a less cultural experience but still worth seeing and heading to if you are looking for a more peaceful area to relax. Their waterfront cafe and bar is a spectacular place to sit and watch the boats go by. They also have hookahs to smoke if you want to try. No:, Kuloğlu Mh., Çırağan Cd. No:28, 34349 Bosphorus/İstanbul, Turkey