When the weather gets cold: GO SOUTH

And go South we did indeed. We went down to the Keys for a hot minute, boiled in the heat, took a quick swim, and then boarded a flight back to DC where we spent one glorious night among friends and then headed to Annapolis where the next adventure began. After acquiring some last minute crew, we flung out bags on our new home for the next couple of weeks ("Island Retreat", a 40 foot Island Packet, or the Piglet as she is more, er, endearingly called for reasons to be explained later) and began the "leaving" process. I use the term "leaving" lightly as it is quite an involved process: full boat check to make sure we don't sink (good, very good), provisions for four people for two weeks (and yes, I made the mistake of promising to feed everyone well), and a list that seems to go on and on. So, after many hours of "leaving," a quick night's sleep, a last minute coffee run, we actually left. For 21 hours we pounded down the Chesapeake, motor at full speed, sails tightly rolled up, the boat barely moving (a total bonus for cooking dinner though, have to admit, am a culinary goddess in the galley, I even have pictures to prove it), ahhh, what a way to start. The Piglet, to explain, is a very sturdy boat, full keel, wide ass, the works. She pounds through the waves, steady as she goes, a little too steady in fact: she stops in the waves. Alas, movement was slow. We arrived in Norfolk to a disheartening weather report, ie, it was bad and we are now trudging down the Inter Coastal Waterway or ICW to all of you pros out there. So here we are, in Battle Bridge VA and the trudge begins...The bonus? This is some gooooood bacon fryin "sailing," mmmmm, the galley goddess strikes again!!

Go home, do some laundry.

Well kiddies, for those of you unlucky enough not to have seen us, we're home (for a hot minute). We hiked, we biked, we climbed, we flung ourselves down mountain sides on foot and bike (more than slightly terrifying, I might ad) we moo'ed at endless cows, laughed at goats, and ate enough cheese to last us a lifetime (we're making fondue for dinner).

We topped off our lovely trip in the beautiful Alps, enjoying that Swiss lifestyle that well, only the Swiss can truly impress upon outsiders. Yes, it's like being in the Sound of Musice, and yes, it actually does look like that.

Just to catch all of you up, because I just know you've been non stop checking for an update on the endless wanderings of Frallory (a dilettante x2), we spent one last glorious night in Switzerland. Geneva to be specific. And no, we did not buy any watches. We spent one sleepless night in a very sterile steal box next to the airport, hoofed it to the Easy Jet terminal, hopped a flight to Amsterdam, ate breakfast and took a wander, trained to the airport, jumped on a flight to Dublin where we had just enough time for a pee break and then boarded our flight back HOME. Finally, at 7:45 pm we landed on the hallowed grand of New York...AMURRRRRICA. A quick stop in Brooklyn to make fun of some hipsters and then high tailed it Back to the Bean where we have been imbibing far too much PBR, sleeping into the early afternoon and watching bad American TV. Yes. There's no place like home.

But, as a true dilettante, this lazy behavior can not continue. No, there are things to see, places to go, and of course, people to see. The next adventure begins already. Next time you hear from me, I will be swimming among the manatees and basking in the sunshine. Off to the keys for a quick minute...

Be a dilettante: EAT CHEESE

A dilettante, by definition, is one who enjoys the, er, better things in life. Stimulating company, scintillating travel (yes, I said scintillating and i MEANT IT), salacious encounters, a fine wine here and there and of course, melted cheese.

Here we are, in glorious Switzerland, admiring cows, driving through windy mountains and enjoying some very fine fromage, as those silly froggies say. We've left the dirty, and i mean dirty, streets of Paris behind with a fine dilettante-esque swan song of a farewell-countless pitchers of beer served with Roman Candles, drunk in the shadows of Notre Dame until the wee hours of the night, ok, morning with some very fine NON froggy company-and have found ourselves nestled into a little mountainside watching some very content cows nibble grass.

For the next few days I fully intend to pursue my trying and exhausting career as a dilettante by meandering through the grassy green hills of the alps, eating any and all melted (and solid, I'm not discerning) cheese I can get my hands on. I have already begun this difficult project with a stop in Gruyere for not only fondue but also raclette (melted Gruyere on potatoes) I am now feeling very exhausted from this grueling day of work and must cap it off with a bottle of wine. Tomorrow commences with a young, light breakfast cheese, a stroll in the alps and a lunch of what else? Fondue.

I can't wait.

Ditch the car. Hop on a train. End up in Paris (again)

After a very eventful drive to the famed St. Tropez to oggle some plus sized boats that only a truly ridiculous person with an unfathomable bank account could afford, a sail in a death trap of a 4-20 (mast teetering on the verge of death, floor boards ominously quavering and a center board that more than leaked) we've ditched the car and trained (super duper TGV fast, of course) it back to Paris. Ahhh, Paris, and ahhh Paris during Fashion Week...what a, well, er, strange place. The "outfits" are out in full force and the people in them aren't much better. Parisians, I have to say, are annoying. Being in the South, I forgot the snark that comes with Paris, the constipated glares that follow you around, the unattractive duck face that overly botoxed French women make and general unpleasant atmosphere that comes with the wine swilling, Galoise smoking, baguette munching, tongue clicking Parisians. Good riddance. Send me back down South.

Although I must say I am looking forward to some clandestine iPhone shots of the Fashion week get ups...