My husband, Warren, and I dared to have a dream: We wanted to travel through Europe as slow roving retired nomads, with our two dogs. We knew that traveling by plane repeatedly with a dog weighing nearly 30 pounds was just not feasible, so we decided we’d travel by car. I won’t lie. Being Americans, it was somewhat complicated and daunting to figure out how to make it happen
It all began, 18 years go, with a photo... hanging on the wall of Captain Jim (a retired Greek Navy Commodore) and Lucy’s lovely home on the Greek island of Syros. I was transfixed by this mysterious black and white photo of the mountain village of Syrrako. The picture shows a deep rugged mountain gorge enveloped and...
A rich burgundy color, it is sweet, but not too syrupy, and generates a warm glow as it makes its way down into the belly. This is Ginja, a Portuguese liqueur believed to cure anything from tonsilitis to the blues. The full name is Ginginha, but it is generally called Ginja, and the best way to sample it is at a Ginja bar in Lisbon.
Historic stone homes in timeworn villages for under $40,000. Mansions with acres of land for less than $150,000, ocean-view cottages, and lock-and-leave apartments. For years, migration from Europe’s countryside has left a glut of character homes vacant and unloved, waiting for someone with some time and a little money.
For the longest time, the American Dream meant owning your own home, likely out in the suburbs. Your own little piece of American soil. Permanency. Dreams change. For an increasing number of Americans, the dream nowadays isn’t residential permanency but permanent RV living. It is, perhaps, a sign of post-millennial America
While attending International Living conferences over the years, it was always fun to sit in on Warren Hardy’s entertaining Spanish mini lessons. After moving to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, I was excited to be to be able to enroll in classes at the Warren Hardy Spanish school in person.
It was my first summer living in the South of France. My French was coming along, and, somewhere between bonjour and je ne sais quoi, I decided it was time to take the plunge. My husband, Nicolas, and I would attend our first summer festival.
It must be every adventurer’s dream. I sail into Guam on my sloop, The Way, finishing three years of island hopping and diving my way through the Pacific. I’m exhausted, unshaven, and reluctant but ready to find a job for a few months to refill my adventure purse.
Raised eyebrows…that’s what I got from people back when I said, “I live in Colón.” They weren’t exactly wrong to raise them. The province gets a bad rap because of its capital city, also named Colón. Steer clear.
The malecon was abuzz. Yachts, fishing boats, and catamarans traversed the Bay of Banderas. Along the seaside promenade, restaurants and bars set their tables right on the sand, unleashing an army of waiters to manage the flow of customers. The smell of international cuisine perfumed the air. There were bars and nightclubs you might see Read more...: A Rare Second Chance to Invest in a Classy Resort Town