On a foggy day in Boston, I found myself unsure of what to do, so like any reasonable person, I decided to ask the good people of Twitter. For the record, I do not regularly crowd source my decisions. But since my current travel plans are largely dictated by “wherever I end up after I…
(Note: Some of the events in this post have been dramatized slightly in order to highlight how little I know of Boston, and to further ridicule Rob. Enjoy.) There is a time in every travel blogger’s life when she is tested. She will find herself with a group of friends in a town that…
(Painting by my amazingly talented friend, Seattle artist Mike Curato.) Dale Chihuly and I have a checkered past. I may have, at some point in days gone by, said a few things regarding his artistic vision of which I am not proud. I am not going to repeat them here, but you can rest assured:…
(Yesterday I told the tale of how I visited the Statue of Liberty. This post continues where that one left off, as I made my way from Liberty Island to Ellis.) I’d be remiss if I told you about my visit to Ellis and Liberty Islands and neglected to note how I almost royally messed…
– The strangest thing happened to me that last time I was in London: I went to a museum dedicated to Britain’s role in WWII. And I liked it. I know – you’re thinking that you can’t have read that correctly. “She must have meant cupcakes,” you think. “Or possibly Jeff Goldblum. She just got…
This week, my husband and I were supposed to be in France. We are not (it is a loooong story, and one which I will share with you later this week). As I was preparing for our visit, I tried to figure out when Rand and I might be able to pop into the Louvre…
L.A. is not home to me. It never will be, never could be. It’s dry and sprawling, full of sun-bleached buildings and strip malls. It bears no resemblance to the damp and mildewy place in which I live. But there are a handful of people I love who’ve managed to make Los Angeles their home,…
I feel like, in my honest account of Sofia, I’ve been a bit hard on the town. This was not my intention. But whenever a tourist walks through a city, the town is laid bare: all of the good and bad it has to offer can be seen. The locals simply shrug off the negative…
I am not an art critic. Don’t get me wrong: I’m massively critical. Of like, everything. And I love visiting galleries and museums. But art critic? That sounds like nearly as douchey a profession as music critic. Perhaps more so, because, for the most part, music is supposed to be enjoyable. Art doesn’t necessarily have…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
In Hardback, e-book, and audiobook from these booksellers:
