Kauai, Hawaii

It was around noon on Saturday that the idea struck.

Justin was scrolling through various flight times on DeltaNet, checking out which ones were looking fairly open.

"Kauai has 14 open seats," he told me.

Four hours later we were swinging our carry-on bags over each shoulder and racing through the security line at LAX, faces flushed and giddy with excitement.

I had never been to Hawaii. People who have visited always seem unable to rave enough about their experiences. "It's paradise" and "You'll never want to come home" are among some of the things I've heard. I had heard all the islands were wonderful, but that Kauai, the Garden Isle, was something special.

It isn't just special. Its positively dreamy. That evening Justin and I stared out at the darkening sea, tiki torches casting brilliant orange light across our table and our naked toes digging into the sand beneath our table. I sat sipping on the icy sweet tang of a Mai Tai while the scent of pineapple fried rice and mango flatbread drifted across the air.

Justin and I stayed on the East Shore at Kauai Shores. It was nestled right along the beach and housed beach-front dining, two pools, and quick access to the airport. We woke up the next morning to the crowing of roosters and the pale pre-dawn light of an early morning. It was overcast, but we sat sipping coffee and watching the sun rise over the aquamarine waves of the Pacific.

Just driving on Kauai is gorgeous. It is all giant, sharp green peaks, lush tropical flowers, and waddies of kava plants. Distant waterfalls glisten as they cascade from the sides of mountains and the crashing of the sea rarely leaves you. The humid air hugs your skin like a moist kiss and wind flutters continuously, rustling the leafy boughs of palm trees.

Justin and I were a quick drive from Wailua Falls. While most of the hiking paths near the top of the falls were blocked, we still enjoyed gazing at frothing water while around us Kauai chickens clucked and hooted.

One waterfall clearly wasn't enough and Justin and I were eager to explore the famously beautiful Na Pali coast on the North Shore. The drive to the North Shore passes you through Princeville, past Hanalei bay, and over tiny single-car bridges. The road literally ends at Ke'e Beach and the trail to Hanakapiai beach begins.

The trail winds itself along cliff edges, proving stunning views of the Na Pali coast line and ending at the rocky Hanakapiai beach. From there, Justin and I turned in-land and began the rugged hike to Hanakapiai falls. The trail was rigorous, involving river-crossings, muddy uphill terrain, and dense tropical forestry. The entire hike was more than 8 miles round-trip and left us muddy, chilled, and out of breath. But the end was well worth it.

We finished our day watching the sun set from the South Shore. Waves broke against black volcanic rock and seals danced in the frothing tide as the sun dived below the western peaks. Upon returning tot he hotel we eased our aching muscles with a looong hot shower and clam chowder on the beach. My eyes were closing over my bowl and my brain was clouded with swirling images of verdant hills, bright pink spiky flowers, and the taste of falls on my lips.

The next morning Justin and I hit the trails early to make the most of our day. We hiked NouNou Mountain along the Trail of the Sleeping giant. The trail was straight up the mountain and our calves were weeping from our exertions the previous day. On our way we surprised a duo of wild boars, snuffling in the earth and had to wait a few moments for them to run off before continuing our path. But, oh, that summit. Panoramic views of the East Shore, the distant mountain ranges, and the glistening Pacific awaited us.

I was content to spend the next hour with my butt planted in the red, rocky sand while the sea foamed at my ankles. Honestly, standing up to accept sips of wine from Justin was almost too much of an effort. The sun was hot and little island birds dug in the sand around me. Luncheon was at Brennecke's on the South Shore, overlooking Poipu Beach. We dined on roasted pork, seviche, and sashimi and finished off our meal with cups of the classic Hawaiian shaved ice mixed with vanilla icecream.

Waimea Canyon State Park was the last major stop of our day. Known as "the Grand Canyon of the Pacific" Waimea Canyon is 10 miles long and houses spectacular views of the reddish island rock dotted with waterfalls. Justin and I would have loved to hike, but our flight departed that evening and neither of us could muster the energy to do more than climb a few steps at the various look-out points.

It's unspeakably sad to leave such a beautiful place. Kauai truly is a paradise. As I write this I can only contemplate and research for the return trip. When Justin and I returned from our first European trip I thought Versailles to be the pinnacle of beauty and tranquility. When I was having a bad day or treating a particularly poor-tempered patient I would retreat to the azure skies and pristine landscape of Versailles in my mind.

Now, however, my mind has a new happy place. In this place tropical birds call out, the rush of the falls pounds in my ears, and jutting verdant hills tower like pagan gods in the skies. Kauai.

 ***

Griffith Park

The past two days have been a whirlwind.

It was my first official three-day weekend. For the past 8 months I have worked at the clinic I have spent the majority of my Saturdays treating clients and finishing up paperwork from the week. But no longer, my friends.

I am free. For now anyway.

To celebrate Justin I have decided to explore some uncharted territory in Los Angeles. We love Long Beach. We love the laid-back vibes, the funky historic homes, the eclectic mix of people. Los Angeles, or rather downtown Los Angeles, is a different animal.

Skyscrapers thrust their sparkling faces into the relentlessly blue sky while on the sidewalk below persons from all walks of life clamor and push past one another like schools of fish. The air is thick; scents of hotdogs, fresh fruit, exhaust, and urine pervade the atmosphere. A cacophony of car horns, voices shouting in all languages, and the gentle beep of the pedestrian walking signs echo against the concrete. In the midst of this concrete jungle, palm trees and flowering bushes push their way up through the cracks like blazing reminders of the tropics. I remember when I announced my upcoming move to LA at work a coworker said to me, "I hope you like weird people and traffic." She wasn't wrong. But it's so much more than that.

It's not New York. It's not Paris. It's Los Angeles. A creature of its own.

But in the midst of this hustle sits the lovely marble facade of Botegga Louie. And that was our destination.

Botegga Louie, despite the perfectly clear white walls, is not an oasis of calm, but rather carries through with the theme of busy. Waitstaff, dressed in crisp white aprons, bustle in every corner, packaging delicate desserts into pink boxes, mixing cocktails behind the gilded mahogany bar, and assembling salad ingredients with all the attention to detail of surgeons.

Whether you want brick-oven pizza, smoked salmon on a brioche bun, or a trio of French macarons, you can find your desires met here.

I have a minor obsession with French macarons. Delicate and sweet and arriving in all the colors of the rainbow, these tiny cookies are bites of heaven. I had my first truly excellent macaron in Paris two years ago. After hiking thirty minutes through the rain, Justin and I arrived wet and disheveled into the warm and well lit interior of Pierre Herme. Macarons were arranged in vignettes reminiscent of the purses on display at Louis Vuitton across the street. That evening, back at our hotel, we dined picnic style on our bed, imbibing wine, strawberries, baguette, and, of course, macarons. 

With such a memory it has been difficult for me to find a macaron that can match. Bottega Louie has done just that. 

The fashion district, with its streets lined in roll upon roll of fabric, fur, and lace were just a quick fifteen minute walk away. Justin indulged me as I wandered from store front to store front, pulling, touching, and flicking through my mental lookbook for just the right fabric. I bought the most fabulous white and black linen at Michael Levine. My latest love has been the gorgeous linen dresses from Reformation's spring line. I can't wait to make my own version. 

We wandered past theaters, pawn stores, mid-century modern apartment complexes, and opulent cafes as we made our way back to the car. The day wasn't over yet. Griffith Park awaited.

Griffith Park is a 4,310 acre oasis of green hillsides sitting abroad the eastern end of the Santa Monica Mountains. It is the largest public park in North America, home to hikers, dog walkers, and of course, Griffith Observatory. I visited Griffith Observatory back in January with a best friend, and, like a kid on Christmas, was giddy to share it with Justin.

At the observatory you feel like you sit on top of the world. Downtown LA is quiet as a picture on a postcard from such a height, its skyscrapers just visible through the haze. The Pacific Ocean and Hollywood are a whisper of color among the endless sea of streets and neighborhoods. You can hike to the Hollywood sign, listen to a brief lecture on telescopes, or peruse the interior of the observatory with its many displays. Families with small children littered the lawn, and tourists snapped pictures of the surrounding verdant hills.

It was fun to play tourist in my new city. I am definitely not a Los Angelino. I do shout quite a bit when I drive now, but that's not really new. I love the flowers, the mountains and ocean at my fingertips, and the wide expanse of diversity that colors conversations and experiences.

After being in downtown LA, Justin and I have been revisiting the ongoing conversation of places other than Long Beach in which we might enjoy living. Echo Park and Silver Lake offer easy access to the museums and parks on the west side of downtown. Santa Monica and Malibu are abundant in beauty and things to do. The beach cities in Orange County are just fantastic.

But visiting downtown LA made me happy I didn't live there. Take from that what you will.

San Diego

It feels as though an age has passed since I last made a post.

Life has been a blur. Busy work weeks sliding into one another, the rush of a schedule-packed day colliding with the quietly blissful weekends. 

Winter has come and gone along the west coast, with just a few weeks of 40 to 50 degree mornings. Now the days are brilliantly sunny and warm, the few deciduous trees are in bloom, and bare legs are back in style.

It may be February in California but the gods of summer have not relinquished their hold on this sunshine state. 

To celebrate a brief reprieve in a few very busy, sickness suffering, and lonely weeks Justin and I took a day trip to San Diego. We are about and hour and a half from this lovely city and I thought I would share the fabulous and brief taste we got to experience.

I feel like I have transported across continents. It used to be Justin and I took day trips from Louisville to Nashville or Cincinnati to get a taste of something different. Now our day trips take us from the endless hustle and traffic of Los Angeles to the gorgeously lush and characterful streets of San Diego.

We started our day in Little Italy, where we lunched at the chic and funky restaurant Ironside. 

We had fully anticipated dining on authentic Italian flavor, but the facade of Ironside was too appealing to pass it by. The exterior is distressed wood with succulents draped from rustic planters. Inside, scenes from the Great Gatsby flick through your mind as the mint and marble bar, mirrored tables, art deco lamps, and brass mermaids wave at you from across the room. It was fabulous. Craft cocktails, buttery lobster rolls, and the bright fresh flavors of seviche offered a schmorgesborg of flavor to the tastebuds. It was so delicious Justin and I briefly debated if we would return there for dinner as well. 

After lunch, already feeling as though the trip had delivered, we walked the steep hills of the city to Balboa Park. 

Balboa Park is an oasis of flora, architectural delights, culture, and history in southern California. It is more than 1400 acres of greenery housing 15 museums, gardens, and the world-famous San Diego Zoo. Just walking through the Spanish-Renaissance inspired archways made me feel as though I stepped into a different era. Justin and I ambled past hundreds of rose bushes, giant tree-like cacti, and into the cool interior of the botanical gardens. Jazz musicians and street artists alike entertained and serenaded pedestrians and tourists.

Justin and I arrived too late in the day to do justice a trip to the San Diego Zoo, but we did visit the San Diego Museum of Art. It has been entirely too long since I visited an art museum. Walking through the expertly lit and pristine hallways sent me back to memories of Musee D'Orsay and the Louvre. I studied studio art in undergrad and have a deep abiding love affair with a variety of French, Dutch, and Italian painters.

With our eyes and hearts full, Justin I wandered through the urban landscape down to waterfront park to watch the sun begin to set into the harbor. We watched little children chase kites through the green lawns and a couple pose in wedding attire by sparking fountains. 

We did have the flavor of Italy for dinner, sipping wine over pasta dishes and sipping foamy cappuccinos before gearing up for the drive back to LA. LA doesn't quite feel like home; it is too chaotic and wild a beast to be familiar so soon. But it was nice to roll onto our street and see the little blue house and all my flowers waving cheerily upon our return. 

Today I planted my very first vegetable garden. I have been eagerly anticipating this day since we first moved into our house. It is tiny but I hope to grow a variety of herbs, peppers, jalapeños, tomatoes, squash, onions, and zucchini. I will keep you posted on the progress!

In other news, I have been a sewing machine. I am thinking about doing a blog post that features like 8 dresses in quick succession. Stay tuned folks.

***