suspension of disbelief.

 I am a Disney fanatic. There, I said it. I love Disney in an unhealthily intense way, particularly Walt Disney World. I haven't been back to Disney in about three years, but I follow blogs, trip reports, and pinterest boards. Every three months or so I try to convince one of my parents, my friends, or my cousins, to go to Disney World with me. With my family I always get the same response: Don't you want to go somewhere else? Yes. I want to go somewhere else. I want to go to all the somewhere elses there are in the world. And I also want to go to Disney. If I had my way I would spend two months of the year in Texas, 4 months in Florence, 2 weeks in Disney World, and the rest traveling all over the world.

And yes, I understand that Disney is a huge corporation which uses ethically questionable practices to support its bottom line. I realize that touring the World Showcase is nothing like touring the actual world. I know that the princesses are really just girls in wigs and shiny dresses.

But listen, I am also a lover of books. And books ask of us the same thing that Disney does: to forget, for a time, the realities of science, the world, and our own lives for the sake of stories and imagination. In literary terms this is called suspension of disbelief.

Sleepy Hollow Hotels: Tarrytown House

The name of this post is a bit of a misnomer. As far as I can tell, Sleepy Hollow itself has no hotels. Seems like a bit of an oversight, but whatever. The neighboring town, Tarrytown, has plenty to choose from. Last weekend we got the chance to stay at Tarrytown House Estate, a beautiful hotel on the grounds of what was once two separate estates belonging to the Biddle and King families.

All of the families' old buildings appear to have been kept more or less intact, providing a wide variety of rooms for guests to choose from. That said, affordability is a factor, the normal guest rooms range from about $250-500 per night (give or take) and the guest rooms in the original buildings cost considerably more than those in the recent additions. Not being Rockefellers, we chose one of the newer buildings, which was a pretty standard hotel room. However, if you're willing to spend the money you can stay in King's House (white mansion), the cottage, or one of the other pricier options.

What sets Tarrytown House apart from a normal hotel is the details. Of course, the property is beautiful, but it's pieces like the exquisite statues and interesting old telephones that make it special. All meals are served in the Biddle Mansion (top photo), which provides huge windows and spectacular vistas. There are a variety of activities outdoors and a heated indoor pool to enjoy on colder days.

scenes from the weekend: trees

I've always had an odd fascination with trees. I used to draw them all the time and when I was nine I realized that if I kept splitting each branch in my drawings over and over, they would start to look a bit like the live oaks which had so long been the sturdy playhouse for my imagination. Even now when my hands reach for the pencil they start to draw whirling and splitting branches in the same patterns they've been making for over a decade.

This weekend my family came to visit me and we got out of the city, traveling via train up the Hudson to where the leaves have started to change. We picked apples, wandered cemeteries, ate the last ice cream before winter, and all the time my camera was constantly at hand, ready to snap pictures of new trees.

Florence Eating: Le Bertucce

During my last semester in Italy I lived in an apartment on a tiny street called Via Sant'Elisabetta. The Medieval and Renaissance streets of  Florence's historic center are all tiny--meant to accommodate carts and horses instead of cars--but Via Sant'Elisabetta is especially so. As a tiny off street near Piazza del Duomo, it escapes a great deal of tourist foot traffic.

Our little apartment's kitchen window opened out onto the street, right across from a little pizzeria called Le Bertucce. In the evenings we would call down to our favorite server, Ricardo, the other girls testing their first Italian sentences, while I translated the conversation for them. We threw paper airplanes, attempted to share our s'mores, and ate a hell of a lot of pizza.

Le Bertucce itself is a small little restaurant serving pizza by the pie or the slice, calzoni, and panini to order. A favorite of locals, it is home to some of the best pizza in the city center. The lines are long during lunch hours (but worth it) and almost non-existent the rest of the day. All the pizzas are made in a stone pizza oven, and slices are often reheated in the same place. (If they try to put it in the toaster oven, ask for the pizza oven instead, it's much better.) If you're stuck making your choice, try the Pizza ai Quattro Formaggi, which is by far their best option.

Pizza is 2 euro a slice or 6 euro for a personal pizza. Calzones are 2.50 and panini depend on the ingredients.

Le Bertucce
+39 055 285595
Via Sant'Elisabetta/ Via delle Oche


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anywherebuthereitis

Lately I've been suffering from a strong case of what I like to call anywhere-but-here-itis. Being in one place for four months is seriously wearing on my sanity, which is bothersome and worrisome and many other somes I have yet to identify. But mostly I'm just scared. I have one more year of college left and after that things seem very final. Pick a career, pick a city, pick an apartment, and stay put. I'm afraid of being stuck, and I'm afraid of making the wrong decision, and more than anything I'm afraid that I'll never be able to find a home if I keep wandering. But I suppose it will all turn out in the end.

In the meantime I dream of far away places.

Mostly when I dream I dream of Florence. Florence with its little cars and cobbled roads and Italian sunsets.

But who knows? After all, life's a mystery.

norway.

About a year ago now, my brother and I set off on our Norwegian journey. Now, some people might think it's crazy to travel with only a sibling for company. I have to say there were a few times I wanted to take his head off, and I'm sure he felt similarly inclined, but it was an amazing trip.

It's true what they say about blood running thicker than water. I don't mean that in the distinction between loyalty for family as opposed to friends. It's just that the almost eerie similarities in our personalities makes us good co-travelers.

Then again, who wouldn't be a good co-traveler when every day you wake up to this:

Seems like yesterday, feels like a decade. Isn't that the way of things.

siena.

As much as I love Florence (and I do love it dearly) there are times when a wanderer feels a bit claustrophobic. After all, even remarkable cities are cities. Walking the same streets in my tiny pixel of existence everyday can make me forget how lucky I am to be here. At such times one needs a bit of what the world likes to call perspective. For me that means getting my ass out of Florence. ASAP.

One of the lovely things about this city is how easy it is to get away. There are countless little towns all around. Some are nestled in mountains, some laze by the sea, Siena is tucked in the hills. Its sights are those of Tuscan postcards: uneven land rising like rounded waves and the tall cypress trees that proudly guard their villas. Even the view from a highway tells the character of this land.

Then there is Siena itself. Like many of the cities here, it was once an autonomous city-state. A solid wall surrounds it, to keep out those pesky Florentines, and to hide the treasures within. It seems that the early Tuscans took "hiding your valuables" seriously. My friend and I spent our day visiting the museums and and cathedral, getting a workout climbing steps, and (for me) enjoying a last summer peach. And when we got home at the end of the day, I felt my city was itself again. As beautiful as Siena is, I know where I belong.

Because Florence changes me; the essence of who I am is shifting here. If I don't look too closely, I can see it.