New Website Alert!

I just launched a new website called a blissful interlude.  In addition to some personal musings on finding those blissful moments in life, the site features stories and profiles on folks who are making a difference in the world, however big or small.

The first story is a feature of Andrew Taylor, co-chef and co-owner of the renowned Portland, Maine restaurant, Eventide Oyster Co.

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Happy reading and stay blissful!

Sarah Woehler

Thoughts Après Paris

You know the feeling before a big event – including a highly anticipated one – of excitement mixed with fear?  Though Paris was The Singular Most Desirable Place to Go on Vacation, I grappled a bit with the excitement/fear feeling leading up to the trip.  And I think it's because, traveling – much like life – is the kind of thing where there are a multitude of unknowns, and that can be a little scary.  You can plan something down to the nanosecond, but there are always curveballs – some good, some bad, some in between – that inevitably happen. 



No caption necessary.

Though there were very few negative curveballs that happened during the trip, the couple quasi-"negative" ones that did occur made it all the more interesting.  Ultimately, it was everything I would have expected Paris to be, and then some.  And I don’t mean that in the Paris is so posh and perfect kind of way (because it totally isn’t), but rather that my visit was full-bodied and life-changing, which I think is the case whenever you experience something first-hand.  In these kind of experiences, perspective grows, changes, and evolves, which is what traveling to new places is really all about.  So, herewith are some of my thoughts and photos après Paris:
 

Cliché as it sounds, the food really is as amazing as they say it is in Paris.  Overwhelmed by all the restaurants there were during the planning process, I left the food planning up to complete spontenaity.  When we landed in Montmartre where our apartment was, however, every restaurant we ate at was a knockout.  From beef bourguignon to banana-and-Nutella-filled crepes, fondue to Vietnamese cuisine (of which Paris is regarded highly for),  French onion soup to croissants and cravette (chocolate pastry), and toasts au saumon fume to cravette, it was all incredible.  None of it was particularly "heart healthy" or "plant based", but partaking it in all was part of the sensorial experience, and I enjoyed every minute of it.
 

French Onion Soup (which I had no less than three times during the trip)

In Paris, nearly everyone smokes, no one wears baseball caps (though I did), and people are partial to black.  For a major city, its people are also rather conservative (not a lot of leg and cleavage) on the street, though TV is a different story.  Also, Italian cuisine is akin to Mexican cuisine in the U.S. - widely prevalent and well done.

Clearly I rebelled against the French aesthetic and dressed for comfort (necessary when you're walking 10+ miles per day).

Versailles was probably as crowded as the Louvre though I wouldn't have known that had I not gone.  It was fun to take the train outside the city and see a bit of French suburbia.  And while walking around the inside of the palace along with hundreds of other tourists left something to be desired, the grounds themselves were quite spectacular.  Personally, however, I much preferred the Palace and Jardin du Luxembourg, which we stumbled upon in St. Germain, taking in an outdoor jazz performance. 

Luxembourg

Everything in Paris is freaking expensive, except for, ironically, bottled water.  Food, clothing, transportation, even deodorant(!) are all substantially more expensive than in the United States.  And, sales tax is a whopping 19.6%.   But, of course, the shopping is also some of the best in the world, so it's hard not to partake, at least a little bit, especially at the city's abundant perfumeries.  Annick Goutal, Fragonard, and the city's numerous pharmacies (which house some of France's best cosmetics) were complete gems. 
 

Rue Chappe (street view from apartment)

Parisians are extremely stingy with napkins.  We went to the same café every single morning for breakfast and along with utensils came one tiny napkin tucked in a basket; likewise, at “restaurantes rapide” (such as at the airport) napkins were nowhere to be found. I’m not sure if people wipe their hands on their clothes, but napkins are far from prevalent. Call me a wasteful American, but I like a little napkin action with my meal. 

Raw Beauty (view of Luxembourg in distance)

Attempting to speak French was actually quite fun.  I didn’t experience any rude Parisians, and in fact, the majority of them were quite friendly, even if some of them weren’t entirely fluent in English themselves. Nonetheless, the phrases “Parlez-vous anglais?”, “Je voudrais . . .” at restaurants, and “Bonjour”, “Merci”, and “Au revoir/Bonsoir” went a long way. 

You can reserve these pods along the Seine to have your very own picnic party.  How cool is that?

Paris has an underbelly, just like everywhere (and everything) else. Case in point being the area surrounding southern Montmartre (also coincidentally home of the Red Light District). Unfortunately, this was our entry into the city and therefore the first we saw of Paris when we arrived.  (For the record, there were no hooker sightings, just some grit and grime similar to a second-world country.)  I wish it had been the last sight instead of the first, because I probably would’ve appreciated it more, but in any event, the City of Lights can’t be all perfume and posh fashions.   

Bakery kitty.  (Note: Not taken in Paris's underbelly.)

Thoughts Before Paris

1. The one thing that has been stressing me out since booking my flights for Paris was the tight connection at Newark.  Upon checking in last night, United gave me an option to switch flights at $75 per ticket, allowing me to get an earlier flight from PWM to EWR, therefore extending my connection time to do a liberal three hours.  So, I said heck with it: $150 is a small price to pay for peace of mind and to avoid potentially being stranded in Newark (rather than the City of Lights) for a day.  You only live once, right?
2. The great thing about long flights is that I have an excuse to buy books at random.  (I will admit, I was a tiny bit tempted to pick up 50 Shades of Grey, but I decided to hold off on that bandwagon for a bit.)   Instead, I bought AM Homes’s (one of my all-time favorite authors) May We Be Forgiven and Domenica Ruta’s addiction memoir, With or Without You.  Both have received wide critical acclaim, in addition to being touted as Huffington Post’s Best Book Club Books of the fall.  I prefer solo book clubs anyway.
3. The other day my good friend Liz told me that something happened to her in yoga – she cried. “Luckily,” she said, “I was in the back row, but crying and yoga is SO cathartic.  It’s like peanut butter and jelly."  How awesome is that?  Now I want to try it.  (Maybe after Paris.)
4. I love fall. I love pumpkin. I love spice.  But this year it seems like the pumpkin-spiced-themed everything has kind of gotten outta control: candles, perfume, coffee drinks, car fresheners.  But hey, maybe that’s just me.  (It’s probably just me.)
5. My friend Brandon sent me an email last Wednesday morning that said, “Stop whatever you’re doing and get the new Janelle Monáe album.”  As a fan of hers since the 2010 release of The ArchAndroid (also amazing), I listened to him.  The Electric Lady is beautifully varied, featuring other genre-bending artists like Esperanza Spalding, Solange, Miguel, and Prince.  If you only listen to one track, I suggest “What An Experience.”  Wow.

Paris in a Week - Eeek!

Next week my husband and I leave for Paris, the land of all things I love like good bread and perfume (Seriously, what else does a girl  need in life?).  And, while a part of me is obviously giddy, because Hello! I’m going to freaking PARIS!), the other part of me has actually been a bit nervous and stressed in the months leading up to the trip, worrying about all the potentials for travel delays and debacles. 

As the trip is drawing near, I’ve realized how the unknown of something – whether it be a trip or life in general – can actually be quite exciting.  Developing this perspective has allowed me to let go of the fear and worries and to just embrace the unknowns, which is really quite freeing.  Nonetheless, a little planning never hurt anyone, so I thought I’d write a little post on Paris: "The Meaning of Lunch" Way. 

Similar to my approach to life, I am equal parts spontaneous and structured, which basically implies that I like to have a plan and then have the option of rebelling against that plan if deemed appropriate.  So, in compiling my somewhat subject-to-change travel itinerary, I am opting not to do something just because it’s the It thing to do or merely to check something off a box.  (This is precisely why I’m skipping the Louvre this time, inspired partly by this great post from The Everywhereist, one of my favorite blogs, although I'm still planning on hitting the Eiffel Tower, obviously.)

Without further adieu, here are a few pearls of wisdom I've learned in my research:

1. Pack light, and ideally, take only a carry-on.  My friend strongly suggested this fine little gem from Eagle Creek, which I was fortunate enough to find brand-spanking new at a major discount through eBay; I also snagged these handy packing cubes to pack everything nice and tight.  (I am a bit OCD when it comes to packing, so I know this whole system will come in handy for future travels as well.)
2. Take a little nightcap for the red-eye.  Some suggest Excedrin PM; others suggest half an Ambien.  We'll see what I can get my hands on. 
3. Stay at an apartment instead of the local Sheraton.  Travel + Leisure did a great write-up on Airbnb.com this past spring and other people have spoken very highly of the site. I booked an adorable little apartment in Montmartre (northern Paris) through the site for ~$145/night, which includes a kitchen, a washer and drier, free WiFi, nestled in a quaint little courtyard.  It will not be as convenient as staying in a hotel perhaps, but it's quite a bit more affordable and will offer a more authentic experience living as the locals do, which for me, is in many ways more important than cookie-cutter convenience. 
4. Paris is the land of pick-pockets.  No need to stress unnecessarily, but knowledge is power, hence why I've purchased a nice little variety of "money belts," including this semi-sexy little number from Maidenform, which bonus: was only $8.  I also picked up a two-for-one around-the-neck and waist belts through Amazon too.  
5. The French don't care so much that you aren't fluent in their native tongue, only that you try.  And really, isn't that the case with, like, everything?  I picked up a lightweight pocket translator guide by the Lonely Planet and downloaded a couple apps (SayHi and iTranslate) to my iPhone, though I will likely defer to my book since I want to limit international use of my data plan. 
6. Parisians are more formal than us sloppy Americans, so no fanny packs and sweats for this sister.  Black and dark skinny jeans, cute tops, and comfortable flats will be my go-tos, which luckily isn't much of a deviation from my work attire.  Nonetheless, I created a little inspirational Pinterest board of outfit ideas.
7. Do what the French do, even if it isn't your thing.  Call me crazy, but I prefer vodka over wine, and if I were to really go out on a limb, I actually prefer cake over booze, but while in Paris I fully intend on imbibing on the local vino, especially since the table wine is supposedly far superior than some of the better wines that you can buy in the U.S.  I also fully intend on partaking in French butter, because that's also supposed to be quite special.  When in Paris, right?

The Bird-Hand Analogy: Which are you?

Since reading this compelling piece on the Bird-Hand relationship analogy, the premise being that in every relationship, one person is the Hand, and the other, the Bird, it has made me realize how fundamental this balance is in relationships.  According to the writer, in an ideal relationship the Hand is the provider, the one who is grounded and stable, while the Bird is the more free-spirited, adventurous one.  Hands are generally content with the simple life, while Birds are stimulated by new experiences and the possibility for adventure.  In a relationship where there are two Birds the relationship might lack stability and trust, especially if the Birds are constantly flying in different directions.  Meanwhile, if there are two Hands the whole thing can become overly routine and mundane, boring, even.  For this reason, one of each is key to a satisfying and mutual bond. 

I know, and have always, known that I – even apart from an assumed role in a relationship – am a bit of a Bird.  It’s true that I don’t jump out of planes on a regular basis, I am not a crazy party animal, and I am actually perfectly content being at home on a Friday night, but I am a Bird by way of needing my space and freedom, a steady amount of stimulation (both intellectual and physical), and new experiences and adventures.  Having enough of this all keeps me balanced and fulfilled.

Though I’ve been attracted to other Birds (obviously – Birds can be a lot of fun!), what is particularly appealing to me – and quite honestly what is best for me – is a Hand to be that stable provider that I crave and need.  In the one or two times I've dated other Birds in the past I felt I had to assume the Hand role (perhaps because I was the less flighty of the two Birds in the duo), and it made me feel like the nagging mother that I was not comfortable being.  And seriously, there is nothing worse than feeling like the mom in a romantic relationship. 

As a Bird, I pride myself in being the cool chick who encourages her man go on fishing trips with the guys and to venture off for an impromptu trip to Boston to catch a Celtics game.  Why I do this, of course, is because I want him to warrant the same kind of freedom to me.  I would not be happy otherwise.  But if he were also a Bird, I have a feeling I might not be as encouraging, because let’s just be real: two Birds don’t make a right.  On the other hand, in platonic relationships I gravitate toward other Birds, and for some reason, that dynamic works supremely well.  I love my Birdy friends!    

What’s most important about this Bird-Hand analogy is the balance that a romantic relationship requires.  Just as Birds need to fly around (some species more than others), they also need to tend to the nest, to be on the ground grabbing grub.  And when they do come around -- hopefully more often than they are flying around in the sky -- the Hand, reliable and stable as he/she may be, is there to accompany them, to listen to their ideas and dreams, to hold and take care of them.  And when the Bird gets all aflutter with either a brilliant or outlandish idea, the Hand can see the forest for the trees and either support or help bring the idea to fruition, or to say that it’s just a shitty idea, which is sometimes necessary!  Meanwhile, when a Hand gets overly consumed with all that’s practical, pragmatic, and routine, the Bird coerces the Hand to try new things, to push through its comfort zone, to fly around in the sky for a while.  In this way, the Hand needs the Bird just as much as the Bird needs the Hand, and the two together are a match made in heaven, as they say.

So, what are YOU -- the Bird or the Hand?

Humble Review: Boston's Parish Cafe

Something that never fails to surprise me is that Bostonians eat lunch really late on Sundays, like almost when us other New Englanders are about to eat dinner. When we showed up at the Parish Cafe, an eatery known for its various sandwiches created by area celebrity sandwiches, for an early dinner before our 5 p.m. train, the place was buzzing with twenty- and thirty-somethings. Despite the abundant crowd, however, there was no wait, and we were seated at a small table by the bar.

Front entrance to Parish Cafe on Boylston St. in Boston, MA.

Tight space though it may have been, the atmosphere was fun -- soul tunes by the likes of Aretha, Lenny, and Stevie were being blasted at just the right octane and the bar was attractively displayed with glasses of all different types. The people-watching was amusing too. There was a couple clearly on their first awkward date directly across from us and lots of other interesting folk to observe.

The beer mugs at Parish Cafe.

The menu, a two-sided foodie's delight, was slightly overwhelming simply because I wanted to try everything. I settled on the The Harrington, described by the Cafe's menu as a romaine salad containing fresh mint, diced cucumbers, sliced red onions, Kalamata olives (I ordered mine san), and feta cheese tossed with a fresh lemon-olive oil dressing and served over grilled Syrian bread. My mate ordered The Benny, a creation by the infamous Ken Oringer of the world-renown eatery, Clio. The sandwich was Vietnamese inspired and consisted of grilled chicken breast sandwich on a hard baguette with veggies and a mint-coriander sauce. Sided with a spicy purple cabbage slaw tossed with tomatoes, fresh mint, Thai basil and cracked peanuts. I had more than my share, and it was delicious, especially if you enjoy Vietnamese fare as much as we do.

According to Zagat rating guidelines, I would give Parish Cafe a 23 for Food, 21 for Decor, and a 17 for Service, the restaurant's weakest link. Here, you're served by multiple people, which isn't really a problem except that none of servers seemed like they wanted to be there at all, despite the inspired playlist. Oh, and the place was hotter than a sauna, which is saying something for someone who's always complaining of being cold. Regardless, I'll be going back to this hot little ticket.

The Family Bond: Blood Is Thicker Than Water

Growing up, if someone told me that I would one day have any kind of relationship with my brother that was anything but tumultuous, I would’ve called you nuts. Both middle children, I, on the younger side of middle, and my brother on the older side, we were like oil and water. Aside from both being caught in the middle, our only similarity was that we bore a similar physical resemblance. My brother Joe, a bull by birth, frequently teased me and beat me up, a sensitive fish. My first black eye was from him, as well as my second, if I can remember right. To him I was a “dog” with a “pot belly” who wasn’t allowed in the fort he had built with his friends. The only times we got along was at Christmastime when we bonded over the new Super Nintendo or when he sold me used goods in exchange for my allowance, such as his leather Raiders baseball  football cap and Arrested Development album he sold to me for $14.

During our teenage years, our differences became much more glaring, in part because of his introduction to drugs and my retreating to my own adolescent angst, which consisted of Ben & Jerry’s and Fiona Apple. Then, the only times we got along was when he was high and I had services to offer, such as a ride to his girlfriend’s or to his dealer’s house. Otherwise, he was stealing my CDs and foreign-coin collection for dope, and I was finding ways to prevent him from doing so, such as shackling my bedroom door with a lock and key -- which worked just some of the time.

When he was 25, my parents gave him a one-way plane ticket to California. Seeing him off, I would’ve been content never to see him again in my life. Just reflecting back on that makes me shudder at the frigidity of that former thought. A year and a half later, I was sending him letters to his new home, a halfway house in San Rafael. His process of getting clean and going through therapy is what marked the dawn of a new relationship between Joe and me – one that would ultimately be one of the deepest bonds I would ever have with a family member.

Last fall, I saw him for the first time in six years. He was tall, built, and had eyes just like mine. He was eloquent and polite, a good communicator, interesting, and sarcastically charming. He was the same brother I had been having phone conversations with since he’d left the halfway house, but he was nothing like the brother I had known in person years that last time I had seen him. This version never existed to me in real life before.

This weekend completely out of the blue, I came home from my morning walk to find a package at my stoop.  In it was a beautiful porcelain teapot and teacup from him. Possibly one of the most thoughtful gifts because of what it represented – one of my favorite rituals of tea drinking and the deep bond that my brother and I now share, despite our differences and our past. Because of our history, my brother knows and understands me like very few people do; I believe this to be true of my understanding of him also. The kind of relationship we’ve been able to build in spite of, or perhaps because of our history, says something about the depth of our loyalty to each other and the deep love we have as brother and sister, as well as about the intimacy of family in general. Blood really is thicker than water.

The Art of Solo Road Tripping

This week I had to travel to Albany for work. Given the option to fly or drive, I decided that it made more sense to drive since there is no direct flight from PWM to Albany, and with the ever-present potential for a delay or a cancellation with flying, travel time would probably turn out to be a wash between the two means of transportation. Nevertheless, I was not looking forward to the long drive by myself. I had never taken such a long road trip by myself (yes, it’s true), either to someplace I’ve been before or to a city I’ve never been to. In any new situation, my default reaction is to experience a bit of dread, in part because I fear that something will happen that is out of my control (case in point being the handgun debacle that happened last week). This time, though, I told myself that I wasn’t going to let myself feel any kind of dread, and that I was going to just embrace the situation, which was a perfect opportunity to practice what I've been preaching. (If you remember I’m working on enjoying this whole journey v. destination thing.)

While I initially felt a little overwhelmed at the prospect of driving all the way to Albany and back all by my lonesome, once I figured out my route, reserved a hotel room, and rented a vehicle with GPS, my worry was mostly alleviated, and I was actually kind of looking forward to the trip. Really! Though I genuinely love to travel, I am a “comforts of home” kind of person. It may sound corny, but music, books, certain foods, and rituals allow me to feel like I’m at home in my heart. The upside of traveling by myself – as opposed to a stranger – is that I was able to surround myself with these things.

Though the destination was reasonably far away I was only going to be gone for a day and a half.  I uploaded my iPod with some fresh playlists, downloaded an audiobook (Object of Beauty by Steve Martin, which was effing delicious – love him, love his writing), and made sure to pack some healthy snacks. As much as I love deliciously indulgent food, I hate deviating too far from my normally healthy eating routine when traveling, especially when it’s work travel. I packed light, but made sure to bring my sound machine (a key for hotel slumbers), a couple issues of Elle, and some flannel PJ bottoms. I also planned to watch The Bachelorette in the hotel. (Yes, I have horribly tacky TV taste, and I'm okay with that.)

It may not have been ironic that I stayed at the Homewood Suites, a chain I’ve never frequented before. The place was equipped with a separate living and sleeping space and, not that I needed it – a fridge, range, and dishwasher. Kind of sad that I had no one to enjoy it with, it nevertheless made the evening kind of delightful in that manufactured home-away-from-home kind of way. While the bed wound up being a tad too squishy for my firm-bed taste, it was a pretty decent set-up, especially for a three-star hotel. And very clean. As you know, Sarah likes her clean.



The longest, single span, covered bridge in the world, in Blenheim, New York.




Adirondack Chairs at Mine Kill State Park, New York


Thanks to some well-chosen tunes and my audiobook -- and probably most importantly, the GPS -- the drive to Albany and back to Maine went by as fast as any solo road trip could go. And while I’m learning the importance of being outside my comfort zone it’s becoming apparent to me that the only way to enjoy being out of the zone is to just take the reins and not allow myself any room for fear, reminding myself that the situation will be nothing but a positive opportunity. Making that conscious effort really works -- it’s amazing. So, while I’m happy to be back home, it feels like less of a relief than similar situations in the past because I allowed myself to feel only a limited amount of dread and fear in the first place.  As a result, it turned out to be a pretty fun experience, not to mention the fact that I saw the longest, single-span, covered bridge in the world in Blenheim, New York.  It's not every day that you see one of those!


Travel grub.

Going "Off The Grid"

Sometimes I think of myself as a city girl disguised as a small-town girl. While it's not something I'm necessarily proud of, I love cities so much, that when I plan a trip somewhere an urban center is always where I want to go. Seldom do I consider going to the beach or the mountains or on a cruise. While I know I'll need to eventually expand my horizons a bit, it's pretty much all about the city for me.  I don’t know, maybe living in Maine my whole life has made me take rustic beauty for granted, although maybe that’s too harsh, because whenever I go away somewhere I am always happy to return. Relieved in a way.


But this weekend, for the first time in my adult life, I am taking a weekend getaway not to the city, but to the woods. There will be a cabin, a boat, a potbellied stove, and (thankfully) indoor plumbing, and no Internet or access to cellphones -- for an entire 48-plus hours. This, I must say, is one of the most exciting things about the trip, not because I dislike the Internet or cellphones (obviously.) But for the first time in God knows how long, I’ll be disconnected from the constant, ho-hum whir of technology for more than eight hours, and that will be pretty nice, I think, maybe even necessary.

During my getaway, I expect to take in at least one moose siting, as well as lots of other wildlife, and likely lots of blackflies. I’ve armed myself with some indulgent reads (Candace Bushnell, anyone?), my Canon G-11, and bug dope, and beyond that, I don’t think I’ll need much else. Maybe some snacks. You gotta have snacks . . . although I hear the home-cooked meals provided morning, noon, and night are pretty special.

Ultimately, my trip to the woods will be a nice exercise in just being for a couple days. Because there’s something a bit compelling, albeit a bit foreign, about the practice of being these days, don’t you think?