Shopping in Paris is exhilarating, but without a plan, it can quickly become overwhelming. With endless boutiques, beautiful streets, and impossibly good window displays (the French really excel at this), it’s easy to wander for hours and still walk away empty-handed.
As a self-proclaimed Type A traveler, I’m the one with an icon-coded Google map, a meticulously organized itinerary, and at least three backup restaurants for every meal. So, spending an agenda-free afternoon in Paris felt like I was rebelling against my natural wiring. It was equal parts liberating and mildly terrifying—with a definite emphasis on terrifying.
London mornings have a magic of their own. Imagine fog drifting off the Thames, the quiet buzz of black cabs, and the inviting aroma of a fresh flat white alongside a croissant or avocado toast. Here, breakfast isn’t just a meal, it’s a blend of tradition and modern style.
When I travel abroad, I inevitably find one dish I fall head over heels in love with. Of course, I arrive back in the states and try my hardest to find a dish locally that emulates it. Realizing that it is an impossible task, I end up scrolling through pictures on my phone re-living that meal.
This past week was no different. Overcast rainy Nashville nights had me craving pasta.
I’ve always considered myself one of Nashville’s rarer specimens, a native, born and raised, from back when that still meant something. As I drive through Music City, I’m not sure I recognize the city that raised me.