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.
Over the last few months, I’ve been pondering what the term “vacation” means to me. I am someone who loves to make the most of every single trip, the type of person who treats every moment as an opportunity to explore. For me, I am not the friend you call if you want to lay on a beach for five consecutive days and sip cocktails.
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.