Travel Archives - Page 11 of 17 - Southern Girl Gone Global

Auld Lang Syne…Best Part of My German Holiday

December 29, 2015April 30, 2017Cindy McCain

Age appears to be best in four things: old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read. –Francis Bacon

It began as a house swap inspired by one of my favorite Christmas films, The Holiday. My friend, Amy, would stay at my apartment in Marrakesh while I would stay in her apartment in Hamburg, Germany. I’d also travel to see Arunima in Idstein, but she convinced me I’d be spending all of my time on a train. I didn’t want to be a bother, but she said I’m family.

I met Mithu, (still Arunima to me) discussing old authors in my English class. She was my student and graduated high school in 1986– the last year I lived in Kentucky before moving to Tennessee. Though she hasn’t aged in three decades she was and is an old soul, still taking care of people she loves, still loved by many. The Super Student is now Super Mom. And a lifelong friend.

Thirty years ago she was my TA and Girl Friday (and Monday-Thursday), a pro at managing the yearbook staff, helping me with my paper load, and keeping a new teacher sane. She helped me pack up my life in Lexington and even visited me a few years after that in Nashville. In the time since we’d seen each other, she became a mom of twins in Germany who are now the age she was when I met her. Knowing I couldn’t fly home Christmas, she and her sons, Lucas and Max, graciously opened their home to me. And I am so grateful they did.

I knew reconnecting with this old friend would make my first Christmas away from my children bearable. She must have been exhausted after a weeklong business trip to Crete, and when she had time to decorate, cook, clean, and gift shop I have no idea. I do know that when she picked me up from the airport, same warm hug, same wry sense of humor, same kindness and ease, we picked up the friendship as if no time had passed. Now both adults, expats, single moms, we have even more in common.

Who knew in the ’80s two Kentucky girls would spend this Christmas together in Germany? I will never forget walking into her quiet, peaceful home, advent candles glowing before a beautiful tree.

Or wandering the quiet Sunday streets of Idstein, a town founded in the 12th century. The oldest building, the watchtower below, was built around 1170, but became the “witches’ tower” around 1676 during witch hunts similar to those in Salem.

I will never forget talking the new Star Wars movie and books with Lucas and Max who are majoring in German and English (or playing Activity which required game-challenged me to explain, pantomime, or draw the English translation of German words and phrases–like “pipe of an organ” or “beer crate” for my partner to guess).

Or walking with Ingrid, the boys’ grandmother, in green fields flanked by a German wood and a pink sunset after she and Mithu prepared dinner. We returned to a cooked goose and white linen.

Fresh apple pie, our Nachtisch (aftertable/dessert in German)

Or being invited to the home of Patrik, Arunima’s boyfriend, where I had Christmas lunch with his mom and sister.

Raclette on Christmas Day–simila to fondue, meat is grilled at table and topped with melted cheese

Or the night before I left, after a week of all the food, food, food (to be said in the rhythm of Dr. Zeus) Arunima served,

we relaxed, talked, and laughed over wine and a movie. Prost! (Cheers!) to her visiting me in Marrakesh soon.

As 2016 calls us to all look ahead in hope,

I love that “Auld Lang Syne” (meaning “for the sake of old times”) reminds us to first look back in gratitude, remembering one of life’s greatest gifts, old friends.

Cologne, Germany Christmas Markets

December 25, 2015February 10, 2020Cindy McCain

The Cathedral Christmas Market in Cologne

I am still with my friend’s family at their home in Idstein. Earlier this week I spent 48 hours in Cologne.

In this city in 1709 Giovanni Maria Farina, an Italian perfume maker, created a fragrance he named after his new home. He described to his brother the concoction called Eau de Cologne: “I have found a fragrance that reminds me of an Italian spring morning, of mountain daffodils and orange blossoms after the rain.” The original formula is still sold there.

But the highlight (literally) of the city is the Cologne Cathedral (Koelner Dom), the largest Gothic church in Germany and the tallest Roman Catholic cathedral in the world. The UNESCO Heritage site was built to house the bones of the three wise men, brought to the city in 1164. Started in 1248 and finished in 1880, it was dedicated to St. Peter and the Virgin Mary in the tradition of Gothic cathedrals in northern France. From 1880-1884 it was the tallest building in the world.

Bones of the 3 Wise Men are enshrined here in gold.

I originally planned to see in 24 hours four of the city’s seven markets–the Cathedral Market, Old Town “Home of the Elves” Market, Neumarkt’s Market of Angels, and the Harbor Christmas Market. An ambitious plan, but it would mean booking a room for only one night. A solo female traveler, I wanted to be near the Cathedral Market, having read it’s the hub of celebration, to enjoy live music at night. I hoped to walk everywhere in safety day or night with no need for a taxi—even to and from the train station. I found a hotel, in this perfect location on one of the websites with deals I typically use. However, my friend, Mithu, said rather than sprinting through the city, I should book through HRS (Hotel Reservation Services) because at their prices I could get two nights for the price of one. My room was 65 Euro. It overlooked the Elf Market and was one block from the Cathedral Market. Mission accomplished.

Lunch (Mulled wine comes in a mug which can be kept as a souvenir or turned in for the deposit).

Live music, more food and Glühwein or “glow-wine” (the German winter drink of heated red wine spiced with cinnamon sticks, cloves, star aniseed, citrus, and sugar) one could ever possibly eat or drink, and friendly folks were found at all four. With the Cologne-Bonn airport close by and train connections aplenty, it is a beautiful Christmas destination.

Around the corner and up the hill…Cathedral Market

I met a very kind lady, Lina, who sold the best cookies ever and is a Life Coach at www.aura-soma-wellness.de.

In Cologne but Never Alone: Reminded by Christmas to Fear Not

December 23, 2015August 2, 2022Cindy McCain

Christmas is charged with nostalgia. I’m in bed looking out my window at the Market of the Elves in Cologne, Germany. Under tents and trees all lit up, replicas of funny bearded men beckon below. Elf statues are more numerous here than in pictures of Santa’s workshop in the book Mama Lou read to my sister and me when we were kids. I came to Cologne to find Christmas cheer because I knew I’d need it.

I have dreaded the holidays for months. It is the first Christmas I’ll spend without my children with me. My son graduates in May on my daughter’s birthday. Last year we had the ultimate Christmas reunion, but because flights from Marrakesh to Nashville are too expensive with the May trip, we decided I’ll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams.

Because flights are cheap to Europe, I decided to spend the holiday with a friend in Germany and take the train to the Christmas markets. My daughter said she couldn’t bear to think of me sad in my apartment alone and all the family wished me well. All my coworkers—international teachers who in their collective years abroad have traveled to every country on the planet it seems—said “No one does Christmas like Germany.” And so here I am in a city with seven Christmas markets—an amazing place (as you’ll see in my next post). Yet despite enjoying the music, live trees, winter air wafting with spices and mulled wine, I’ve also shed some tears.

Since moving to Africa I’ve had bouts of loneliness and fear. Through every trial God comforted me, strengthened me, grew me more into the woman He has always wanted me to be. I have found freedom, peace, joy that nothing from without can sustain—only his presence within. I have seen beauty and experienced adventure as gifts—love letters from Him–during this amazing season. I have been protected and contributed on this new continent, feeling totally in His will and being blessed beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Still… despite so much growth…so much faith and thankfulness for how far God has brought me physically, emotionally, and spiritually throughout the course of my life and particularly over the last sixteen months… despite feeling closer to God than ever and thus, like the Proverbs woman clothed in strength and dignity who smiles at the future … a woman who now lives most days without fear, regret, and doubt….that woman took a holiday. Today, thankfully, she is back.

While teaching The Life of Pi my eyes filled at the line, “All of life is letting go.” It seems I was brought to Africa to learn this truth more than any other. I had to let go of so much to follow the life in Morocco God planned for me. Being close to family and friends; renting the home and leaving the job where I’d been secure for over twenty years; giving up comforts like water and wifi that never failed, a car to grab what I forgot at the store, a neighborhood and greenway where I’d walk my sweet dog, Ella.

Letting go is painful. Because our natural reflex is to hold on. We fear if we let go we’ll lose something rather than free ourselves to receive gifts God wants to place in our hands. Letting go means losing the illusion of control and stepping out in faith, believing, remembering this leg of the journey was God-mapped though I can’t see where it ultimately will lead. I’m realizing that distance doesn’t mean I’m asked to let go of family and friends. Though I can’t hug them during the holidays, they are with me in my heart, loving me on Skype and in spirit.

Letting go means losing fear—the greatest enemy of the soul. I believe with all my heart, “God does not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.” I just don’t always live it. Like Linus, I’ve been able to drop my security blanket (whatever I contrive and hold onto thinking it will protect me against fallout of a fallen world) when I remember two simple words—a mantra in my Bible: “Fear Not.”

Yesterday as I walked along the Rhine River with God I thanked Him for being my wonderful Counselor, my Prince of Peace. I believe with all my heart He is Emmanuel—God with us. This morning I googled “Daily Devotion” to reset (as I must do every day) my mind to truth. Only truth trumps fear. Up popped this post by Jason Soroski explaining the impetus for dropping what we cling to in fear. I’m also grateful for his Part 2, which reminds me why, after letting go, I as a human, pick up my blanket again. I’ve often felt like Charlie Brown–someone who wants to be perfect but never gets it right. I’m thankful for this reminder that I don’t have to. I’m loved by One who will never leave me.

I came to Morocco believing the move would benefit my family, finances, future, and faith. In the latter, I knew I’d find true freedom. I haven’t seen where my story will end and thus fear sometimes still rears its ugly head, but the Christmas story reminds me again that I am to fear not.

On the train ride to Cologne I saw beautiful woods and a river. I knew this trip was what I needed. Though the skies were cloudy and I was striving to trust in the dark what I’d seen in the light, God again was taking me on a journey that would make me lie down in green pastures…lead me beside still waters… restore my soul.

And this Christmas I find comfort and cheer knowing no matter what 2016 holds, no matter where I’ll live, work, serve, that surely goodness and mercy will follow my all the days of my life and I’ll dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

In Marrakech Locals and Expats Gather at Kosybar

December 6, 2015February 15, 2021Cindy McCain

I spent a perfect Marrakesh afternoon recently with Brigitte, owner of Kosybar and Dar Beija, with Andrena, her longtime friend. Andrena and I were off from work for Moroccan Independence Day so we were thrilled to enjoy lunch in the sunshine. Later we walked it off through the newly refurbished Jewish Quarter to Brigitte’s beautiful boutique hotel.

Day or night the three-story restaurant is a gathering place. I’d been to Kosybar before, a favorite Happy Hour hangout of coworkers and other locals and expats. In a city where riad and restaurant rooftops are so close you can hopscotch your way across the skyline, Kosybar’s sunset view is one of the most unique places in town to sip and see the sky change colors. Perched in their gigantic nests just above patrons, the famous storks of El Badi Palace, began in 1578 by Arab Saadian Sultan Ahmad al-Mansur, keep watch over dusk. The tourist attraction is home now of the Marrakech Folklore Festival.

First trip to Kosybar in Spring 2015 with Annie and Lexi — First trip to Kosybar last spring with Annie and Lexi

Through the gate below Kosybar is the El Badi Palace (below)

As we spoke over lunch, Spike, a talented and gregarious Canadian singer who fills the dance floor downstairs Thursday-Sunday nights, stopped by the table to say hi. Three other expat guests—one who had returned home but like so many others had been drawn back by the “Marrakesh spell”–did the same, giving Brigitte–a Moroccan kisses on both cheeks. She has a sensitive, sweet spirit that friends and regular customers find soothing.

Our lunch prepared by Japanese Chef Nao Tamaki was delicious–a fusion of Asian, French, and Moroccan fare. Though not usually a dessert person, I LOVED the apple turnovers. In addition to lunch, the restaurant serves a tapas menu afternoons and a dinner menu evenings. They have a full range of cocktails including a good selection of wines. The mojitos are the best I’ve tasted in town.

It was a poignant day. Sad and shocked by the Paris bombing, Brigitte talked of the tragedy and her daughter’s decision that they keep their plans for an upcoming trip to the City of Lights. Brigitte said though it is safe in Morocco it had been quiet the last few days as it is every time such a tragedy happens. She agreed with her daughter that we can’t be ruled by fear and they should go to Paris as planned rather than cancel.

Despite disturbing world events, we so enjoyed the day we’d been given. As moms born on three continents (Andrena is Scottish), we spoke of our children. Brigitte shared some of her family history. She and her husband, Nabil, started their journey as high school sweethearts 25 years ago in Meknes. Together they attended University of South Florida in Clearwater, Schiller University, and University of Nevada in Las Vegas where they received degrees in Hotel Administration, Hospitality, and International Business. Their oldest child was born in Clearwater, the other three in Las Vegas.

They returned to Morocco and in 2005 opened Kosybar. Of her staff, she said, “We’re family.”

On the square beneath, workmen continuing renovation.

She also shared local history. The previous owner of the riad which is now Kosybar was a Jewish clockmaker. Moroccan kings have always protected Jewish residents and many pilgrimages are made here to burial sites of their saints. Many of the Jewish houses had tunnels under the city to the palace in case of attack. One of the many things I appreciate about Morocco is its historic and present tolerance of the religions of foreigners. In the Marrakesh Mellah, one of several Jewish communities in Morocco, Jewish and Muslim merchants work alongside one another. Brigitte said of her childhood: “My dad was French, and my mom was Moroccan. Her best friend was Jewish. We all grew up together.”

I remembered on the first tour I took of Marrakesh our guide began at the spice shop just across the street (below). I couldn’t believe how bright and shiny the neighborhood was compared to when I first visited—dust, exhaust fumes, and years of use washed and refinished.

Dar Beija, a boutique bed and breakfast riad

Riad rooftop with a panoramic view of the Marrakesh Medina–palaces, sanctuaries, and the Atlas Mountains

Thank you, lovely ladies, for the pleasure of good company and conversation. Truly it was an afternoon of pure peace.

Morocco’s Paradis Plage Surf and Spa Resort Is the Perfect Coastal Luxury Stay

November 30, 2015March 15, 2025Cindy McCain

The third stop on my November beach hop along the Moroccan Atlantic Coast was Paradis Plage Surf and Spa Resort. Owners take pride in being the first hotel in Morocco to combine yoga and surfing—a dynamic duo since yoga prepares and repairs the body after surfing. The property invites guests to ride waves, climb camels, or salute the sun as it rises and sets. Here couples, families, friends, and solo travelers enjoy over 100 suites with terraces or balconies opening to pool or sea. Recreation varies from four area golf courses and an outdoor cinema. Located 30 minutes from Agadir and 50 minutes from an international airport connecting to European capitals via 3-hour flights, the resort is where westerners love to play.

Started by Kabbage Abbes, one of the first investors in Agadir hotels, who teamed with Francois Payot, head of Rip Curl Europe, the resort is a work of art run by Abbes’ daughter, Naima, and her husband, Vincent. Furnishings were created by locals and the gorgeous green spaces and gardens are by Spanish landscaper, Sergio Castaneda Beltran.

4U2A8008photo internet — Photo by Paradis Plage

Excited to learn more about surfing and to practice yoga, I was shown to a gorgeous oceanfront suite. At the Surf House beach bar while sipping my Flag (local beer) and waiting for a Mexican burger (rare in this region), I saw horses and camels waiting patiently on the sand while cats lounged in the sun. Later, everyone returned for the golden orange sunset.

IMG_9614 - Version 2 — Simo, instructor here and in video above, is from Rabat. He has taught in Hawaii and on the US East Coast. He guarantees by the end of the first lesson every student will be up on their boards.

In partnership with Rip Curl, legendary Australian brand, Tarik Wahbi, surf pro from Tétouan, is ranked one of Morocco’s Top Ten surfers. Manager of the surf program, he leads a team of gregarious guys who hook up guests with equipment, instruction, and guides to the best waves.

Photo Paradis Plage 2014-5 — Photo by Pardis Plage

Photo Paradis Plage 2014-2 — Photo by Paradis Plage

Paradis Plage Surf and Spa Resort nurtures total wellness that fits the unique needs of each guest. Surf and Yoga packages are available for two or five days. Surf School Packages are available for 5 days—2 sessions per day.

Yoga and Spa packages range from two days (daily yoga course, a sensory hammam, and a massage) to five days (yoga course, two hammams, one body scrub, and two massages).

The resort shares with clients the secrets of Moroccan women’s beauty. All cosmetics are 100% natural Taroudant Argan oil, essential oils from Marrakech gardens, pebbles from Imi Ouaddar’s beach, facial treatments using Sous Massa prickly pip, Taliouine saffron or roses of Dades Valley.

Traditional Hammams consist of a black soap scrub, Atlas ghassoul wrap, Atlantic Coast seaweed wrap, Imouzzer honey, and spice scrub. Sensory Hammams fuse fragrances of in orange blossom and eucalyptus to relax and rejuvenate. Managing massages and other spa services is Marie France Riera.

Important Tip: Schedule spa services, especially massages, and yoga classes before you arrive or at check-in because appointments and classes fill fast.

Photo Paradis Plage 2014-12 — Photo by Paradis Plage

Yoga group classes, the highlight of my getaway, are offered three times daily:

8-9:15 Sunrise Yoga (for all levels)—breathing, flexibility, strength, muscle toning, body opening

11-12:15 Easy Yoga (all levels but especially great for beginners) Asanas postures and poses; precision of body alignment, rhythm, balance

5:30-7 Sunset Yoga (all levels)– detoxification, relaxing based on Vinyasa flow systems

Also available are classes in Yin Yoga Therapy (gentle practice using blocks, pillows, restorative and relaxing to relieve tension in muscles and joints, relax spine and pelvis), Aerial Yoga (hammock used for suspension), Prenatal, Power Flow (ultimate workout for athletes), and 108 Greetings. Custom sessions can be arranged by Karim Fadali.

Photo Paradis Plage 2014-3 — Photo by Paradis Plage

Classes are typically held in the Yoga Shala which consists of two beach studios connected by a lotus pond and facing the sea. Groups may rent the space for private retreats as they did during my stay so guests met in an open air space (see below). Sara, our excellent German instructor, lives in Cairo. Like the best teachers, she is creative, kind, soulful, and a learner herself. She was excited about taking her first surf lesson after our yoga class. My classmates were European as well– some there with partners and others solo. We “sent love to the flies”–pests in the Taghazout region at times– but packing insect repellent might also be a good idea. The small community made it possible to meet other guests in classes and connect with them at the poolside buffets or bars later.

I left feeling refreshed and restored by the beauty of nature and yoga. I loved seeing smiles on surfers’ faces when they did what we all must do to navigate and enjoy life– conquer fear, be flexible and strong, and stand tall as we ride the waves.

Thanks to Paradis Plage for a restful retreat. As always, the opinions are my own.

Worldwide Photo Walk

October 5, 2015April 28, 2018Cindy McCain

Last Saturday over 21k people were involved in a worldwide shooting. From my home in Nashville to my residence in Marrakech, participants grabbed cameras and celebrated life on photo walks in 1000 locations. To learn more about Scott Kelby’s Photo Walks go here.

Ours was scheduled in the medina to begin at 9:30 at the Café de FRANCE on Jemma El Fna square. Jon–a friend, pro artist and skilled photographer– and I met Kate, a friend from Australia who told me about the event because she had previously done a walk in Melbourne. Synnove, a Norwegian friend I met on a hike last spring, surprised me when she appeared as we were meeting Mustapha, a Moroccan tour consultant of Intrepid Travel, signed up for the walk. After mint tea and juice, we wondered where our photographer/organizer was. Kate checked online and discovered he had changed the time to 3 PM. Unable to wait or return later, we made Jon our fearless leader and were off.

After winding through wares of silver, sequins, and Sahara green pottery, we went into Ben Youssef Madrasa, a visual feast. A special treat was a place I’d been wanting to check out– The Marrakech Museum of Photography— where we saw Jean Manuel’s Portrait of Touareg, the first “photoshopped portrait,” Landrock’s Young Arab, about which I learned Tunisian boys wore jasmine behind their left ears to signify to girls they were available, and Jean Manuel’s Portrait du Tourareg, a personal favorite for a couple of years now. Our session ended at the rooftop cafe of the museum–one of the best panoramic views from within city walls. Shooting in Marrakech manually–bringing its kalidescope shapes and colors into focus– was magic. Especially because it made me feel like a kid again.

Choosing settings for the study of light and dark the souks provide. Photo by Kate Woods

Said to be first “photoshopped” photo (head placed on different body)–details below

Jardin Majorelle…My Backyard Blooms

September 19, 2015October 25, 2016Cindy McCain

The earth laughs in flowers.–Ralph Waldo Emerson

Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.–Sigmund Freud

I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses.–Charles A. Miles

Had Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé not fallen in love with Jardin Majorelle on a visit to Marrkech in 1966, one of the most famous gardens in the world would have suffered the fate Joni Mitchell lamented in “Big Yellow Taxi”: “They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.” Slated to be a hotel complex, the property was saved by the Parisian clothing designer (whose ashes are scattered in the rose garden) and his partner.

Memorial to Yves St. Laurent — Memorial to Yves Saint Laurent

The pair pledged to complete the vision of Jacques Majorelle, a fellow artist who created the space. Mission accomplished, the urban renewal breathes life into city residents and tourists. I recently wrote of my love for gardens. I’m so grateful for this one, located just down the street in my neighborhood in Gueliz, where I find shade, shelter, green space, in the midst of a frenetic city.

The painting studio of Majorelle was convereted into a Berber museum, educating expats on the natives of Morocco, and an irrigation system installed. A legacy of art and beauty, Jardin Marjorelle is the result of one who planted, two who watered, and God who grew a creation all now enjoy.

All gardening is landscape painting.–William Kent

In 1923 French painter, Jacques Majorelle, bought land in Marrakech. He had studied architecture and was an avid amateur botanist. He was also influenced by his father, Louis Majorelle, a famous furniture designer, and the Art Nouveau movement which took inspiration from nature.

A garden must combine the poetic and the mysterious with a feeling of serenity and joy.–Luis Barragan

The composition of his masterpiece includes indigenous plants and those he gathered from his travels across five continents—palms, agaves, cacti, weeping willows, jasmine, agaves, cypress, and my favorite, cascading bougainvilleas. A paradox of serene stimulation, bursting blooms against the buildings’ primary colors—yellow and ultramarine, now known as “Majorelle blue” –energizes while the green of fauna, ripples across ponds, and whispers of fountains calms the soul.

Though Majorelle’s art exhibitions were appreciated world wide, Jardin Majorelle is considered his greatest achievement. Sadly, however, his life did not end with the serenity he gave others. An accident that took his leg and broken relationships led to financial burdens which forced him to sell much of his land and open the garden to the public for entrance fees. He died before seeing the culmination of his vision, never knowing future owners would finish what he started. Still Majorelle said of his passion project: “This garden is a momentous task, to which I give myself entirely. It will take my last years from me and I will fall, exhausted, under its branches, after having given it all my love.”

Since moving to Morocco I’ve wanted bougainvillea to spill over my balcony. Though I see it everywhere climbing buildings several stories high and have asked locals where I can buy blooming plants at least 3-feet tall, they’ve all said it is best to plant small cuttings without flowers. Finally, I felt heard. I showed a Moroccan friend exactly what I want in pots perched on a riad rooftop. I showed him the size and color, repeating I don’t want to wait… I want beautiful, large plants now, not knowing how long I’ll be here to enjoy them. He nodded, agreed, and produced three single vines. Each spindly…bud less… only inches tall. The Charlie Brown Christmas tree version of what I’d envisioned. Disappointed, I thought, I’ll probably be on another continent by the time these bloom.

But then I decided to do it the Moroccan way. No hurry. Plant. Have patience. Wait and see. Teaching should have taught me this. Whether or not I see the fruits of my labor, I’ll tend. I’ll love. I’ll bloom where I’m planted, believing life–in whatever season–is beauty.

October 2014–Moni and I at a tea hosted by my school’s Board of Directors

Travel bloggers and friends on a Sunday stroll

Spain’s Hotel Santa Marta Is the Ideal Mediterranean Solo Retreat

August 20, 2015March 1, 2025Cindy McCain

IMG_6654 (1).jpg — View from Balcony of Hotel Santa Marta, Lloret de Mar

My go-to escape has always been the ocean. While living in Morocco I’d fly to Spain’s sunny shores via Ryan Air for less than a Target run in the States. One of my happiest solo travel stays EVER was at Hotel Santa Marta — a beauty break amidst botanical gardens winding down, down, down to the shore. Sheer. Bliss.

The near 15-acre (6-hectare) estate is located on its own private bay, Santa Cristina, and was chosen for the opening night party of this year’s European Travel Bloggers Exchange. I first saw the property that night as our ship skidded onto the sand. The beach was lit by sunset. I ‘d already booked a night there for after the conference to catch my breath before a 3-day blogging tour of Costa Brava. Since that perfect stay I’ve dreamed of going back for a week.

When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everything in me that is bewildered and confused. — Rainer Maria Rilke

The Spanish Mediterranean coast is as beautiful as beaches in Southern Italy and France. I was there in spring when, like late fall/winter low season, a single sea view room can be as low as 115 Euro per night. I love boutique hotels for their privacy, but plan ahead because this paradise stays booked, particularly by Europeans who vacation along Costa Brava in high season.

The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.— Kate Chopin

The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach – waiting for a gift from the sea. –Anne Morrow Lindbergh

I loved swimming in the pool and sea, writing on the balcony, and sleeping to the sound of waves in the ultimate room with a view. It’s the perfect solo, group, or romantic retreat in Lloret de Mar.

I read and walked for miles at night along the beach, writing bad blank verse and searching endlessly for someone wonderful who would step out of the darkness and change my life. It never crossed my mind that that person could be me.–-Anna Quindlen

For more on the beauty of Girona and the Costa Brava Coast, see my 5-Part Series (links below) and go here for more information.

Discovering Costa Brava: Spain’s Medieval Coast, Part I

Discovering Costa Brava’s Medes Islands, Part II

Discovering Costa Brava’s Bounty, Part III

Cycling Through Costa Brava’s Medieval Villages, Part IV

Discovering Costa Brava, Part V

My Nashville

August 18, 2015February 9, 2018Cindy McCain

Roots and wings. Nashville has and is (for me) both. This progressive place with a legendary past is the 7^th fastest growing city in the US. Friends told me of new restaurants and music venues, of more traffic in the year I was away, but I was still surprised by all the change.

Growing up in Kentucky, I romanticized Nashville and its icons. As a six-year-old in the ‘60s my “imaginary friend” was an imaginary husband—Elvis—and I still remember watching the Johnny Cash Show with my dad on Friday nights long before I’d go to concerts at The Ryman where it was taped. Walk the Line is one of my favorite movies—a love story of a Bad Boy reformed by a woman, her family, and faith. When asked for his definition of Paradise, Johnny said of June Carter Cash, “This morning, with her, having coffee.”

If you are fans of Elvis and Johnny, too, local artist Cindy David’s guitar pick earrings are my pick for cool souvenirs/ gifts. She sells them at festivals and gift shops (Nashville Airport, Frist Center, Omni Hotel, Nashville Symphony, and Cheekwood), or you can contact her at CindyDavid.com. I brought back a pair for Johnny.

When writing in Nashville for Examiner and Hispanic Nashville.com , I highlighted local events that defy Music City being put in a box—

performances at the Nashville Symphony, TPAC, Nashville Ballet, Vanderbilt Presents, and Nashville Film Fest. I also appreciate all that once defined Nashville–putting the town on the map–like live music on stages at the Ryman, the Bluebird, Grand Ole Opry, Bridgestone, BB King’s…in bars on Broadway, Demonbreun, and Nolensville Road…and at outdoor events from Ascend Amphitheater to Chukkers for Charity. Today Nashvegas, Buckle of the Bible Belt, a community as diverse as sweet tea and Jack Daniel whiskey, brims with tradition and progression; local, global, and local-gone-global happenings receiving Presidential recognition. Nashville is a place offering something for everyone explaining its popularity as a tourist destination and place to live.

Hatch print — Legend-upon-legend, Hatch Print, Nashville

Moviemaker Alberto Fuguet was also drawn to Music City. While Artist-in-Residence at Vanderbilt University, he wrote and filmed Musica Campesina. The film explores the immigrant experience of Tazo, a Chilean who comes to Nashville seeking a career in country music. In a scene with the lead (played by Pablo Cerda) I’m a desperate housewife who offers him iced tea but serves Jack Daniel. Fuguet described Tazo as a “fish out of water” which I better understand now living in a different culture. Many days I feel like a mermaid in Marrakesh.

My month at home went too fast to see all the new places I wanted to explore and visit all my old haunts. Below Taylor, Cole, and I played tourist downtown on 2nd Avenue and Broadway. Acme Feed and Seed has live music, reasonably priced food and a rooftop for taking photos.

Johnny Cash and Billy Graham, most famous preacher of my time. I still remember my Mama Lou watching his Crusades.

Also on Broad is the Frist Center. We celebrated a Big Birthday of my friend, Cheryl, there where The Long Players had people dancing in the grass under the light of a big, blue moon.

11840364_10207884343813323_428915226_o — Emily, far right, is our pro photographer and grabbed great shots and footage of that night. Today is HER birthday. Happy Birthday, Em!

11831448_10207885048950951_1344375663_o — Loved the Birthday Dinner at Cheryl’s pick, Adele’s–fun new restaurant in the Gulch.

Below is the video Emily made celebrating Cheryl’s 60th Birthday and what a “Young American” looks and acts like. Also check out travel videos from Emily’s adventures on her Vimeo station, My Open Road.

Nashville is a dancing place. On my 40th birthday I was doing country line dance with my sister and friends at the Wildhorse Saloon. Since my 50th I salsa. It was so good to get back to Suzy Wong’s House of Yum to fuel up for lemon drops and Asian Wonton Nachos, then do “Free Dance Wednesday” where Tonya Miller still faithfully hosts Salsa Night weekly at Play.

Though there are so many places to go, things to do, food to eat, I have to wrap up because I’m getting homesick. For a fix of Italy I love Bella Napoli near Belmont or Coco’s Italian Market in West Nashville. Urban Grub on 12th South has oysters and great grits. And in my neck-of-the-woods, there’s the Hip Donelson Farmers Market for home-cooking-for real like the spread my sister and brother-in-law made for my farewell dinner.

I went to McNamara’s, named “One of the Best Irish Pubs in America,” with my friend, Theresa, then Cole while home for the corned beef and cabbage and band, Nosey Flynn. For lighter fare there’s Phat Bites‘ Chinese Chicken Salad, Broccoli Salad, and Greek Salad and Cinco de Mayo in Hermitage and Old Hickory for a reward after a long walk on the Greenway or just because.

Finally, events I miss most in Nashville are Fall Festivals. Hope you can make one or all!

Italian Lights

Wine on the River

Oktoberfest

Southern Festival of Books

Celebrate Nashville

Cheekwood Fall Festival

A music mix that’s Nashville…

St. John’s Eve in Vigo: Midsummer Night’s Dream

June 25, 2015June 29, 2024Cindy McCain

He will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair.–Isaiah 61:3

Trust your heart if the seas catch fire; live by love though the stars walk backward.—E. E. Cummings

Someday, after mastering the winds, the waves, the tides and gravity, we shall harness for God the energies of love, and then, for a second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire.—Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

When I met my friend, Monica, in Nashville many years ago, she invited me to her hometown, Vigo, Spain. She visited me last fall in Morocco, and I met Alessandro and her in Tarifa in March, but I saved my visit to their city for this week. I wanted to be here on June 23 for La Noche de San Juan (St. John’s Eve). This year it finally happened. As we picnicked in the sand before bonfires blazing, flames dancing to the tide’s tempo, I joined a celebration observed throughout Spain and in much of Europe and Latin America– a night to remember and release what we need to forget.

St. John’s Eve and Day June 24 commemorates the birth of John the Baptist, born six months before Jesus that first Christmas. John said he baptized Christ with water but his cousin would baptize believers with fire and the Holy Spirit. The event of water and fire coincides with Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year, which begins my favorite season—summer—a time of freedom. In Italy celebration for Saint John, patron saint of Genoa, Florence and Turin, lasts from July 21-24. Likewise, last Saturday when Monica and I met in Porto, Portugal, the city was starting what some say is the world’s biggest celebration with live music echoing through the hills surrounding the Douro River.

Moni, Ale, and Vesa, a UK student studying/living with them in Vigo

Staring into the flames and glowing embers that warmed us, I thought of fire as a symbol of passion and a means of purification. I thought of the healing powers of the sea’s salt and was warmed by old friendships and the night’s invitation to new beginnings. By tradition some jump over bonfires for good luck or swim in the ocean after midnight for cleansing, renewal, and energy. Students burn school notebooks to celebrate the end of the school year. Participants of all ages write on a slip of paper what they want to purge from their lives—something holding them back or pulling them down– and throw it on the fire. I watched as the flames turned the napkin I’d written on into black, curling crepe paper, then devoured it completely. I thought of God’s promise in Isaiah 61:3 to make beauty from ashes. He has, and He will.

Southern Girl Gone Global

Travel

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In Marrakech Locals and Expats Gather at Kosybar

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Morocco’s Paradis Plage Surf and Spa Resort Is the Perfect Coastal Luxury Stay

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Worldwide Photo Walk

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Jardin Majorelle…My Backyard Blooms

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Spain’s Hotel Santa Marta Is the Ideal Mediterranean Solo Retreat

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My Nashville

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St. John’s Eve in Vigo: Midsummer Night’s Dream

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