Over the hills, under the moon - and off the beaten path

The other day I walked the streets of the edgy, regenerated Villette area of Paris, and here, on one of its busy streets, I stumbled upon what seemed like a portal opening into another time. Entering through an unassuming gate, and going down a narrow,  semi-private alley, I was transported from the frenetic present into a hidden,  quiet garden that turned out to be the garden of the  Saint-Serge de Radonège Russian Orthodox Church.    Photo: SortirAParis Before me unfolded a scene that could have been plucked from a 19th-century Russian novel: Long-bearded orthodox priests wearing flowing black robes and cylindrical kamilávka hats, moved unhurriedly among the flowerbeds, and a group of elderly parishioners sat in the garden, on rickety chairs, chatting in a melodic blend of Russian and  French. The abrupt transition from bustling street to  tranquil sanctuary was so jarring that I half-expected to find my smartphone transfor...

  The other night I was invited to a so-called Full Moon Party in the center of Paris. The host was a guy Rita and I met, when we, a couple of years ago, stayed on his houseboat a bit up the Seine. He arranges these casual parties at the middle of the Pont des Arts and he has done so, come rain or come moonshine, every month for the last many years. As I approached the iconic bridge, now mercifully devoid of its plague of "love locks," I was greeted by a cacophony of excited chatter in a United Nations potpourri of accents.  French people as well as expats from many corners of the globe mingled freely, their laughter and chatter forming a symphony of human connection that was actually quite infectious. As I accepted a glass of wine from a beaming Spanish astrophysics student, I pondered the curious phenomenon before me.  Here we were, a motley crew of strangers, united by nothing more than our shared presence in this city and our willingness to gaze skyward toge...

For a long time, Rita and I have dreamed of finding a romantic, small, affordable Parisian pied-à-terre - and this September I am in Paris, chasing our dream!  As I wander the streets, I see the abundance of real estate agencies dotting many corners. Their windows, plastered with images of quaint apartments seem to beckon passersby with promises of "le rêve parisien." One might assume that in a city teeming with "agents immobiliers," securing a modest little place would be as simple as ordering un pain au chocolat.  In actuality, you have to prepare to have your assumptions challenged and your patience tested! When I approached my first agency, I did it with the optimism of a sugar craving tourist eyeing a Parisian pâtisserie. The window was filled with advertisements, but the door, marked "Ouvert", remained stubbornly locked.  At the second agency, I was greeted by a bored-looking receptionist who informed me that all agents were ...

Why go to Paris during the Olympics, when you have almost zero interest in sports? Well, we  imagined ourselves being at the epicenter of a global phenomenon, but upon arrival, we find the streets remarkably... ordinary.  We knew of course that  the roving  bands of athletes,  the spontaneous outbursts of national anthems and the fever of competition were within the concrete confines of various stadiums, but we actually  thought the excitement would spill out into the streets. But no. Except for a few fan zones scattered around the city, the much-vaunted Olympic spirit is safely contained inside a labyrinth of barriers and checkpoints. When we arrived, Paris did look like we had never seen it before with some forty thousand barriers dotting the cityscape, like some absurdist art installation gone awry. The river Seine was  off-limits to the unwashed masses, and only those blessed with a personal QR code might grac...

Walking into the massive Boros bunker in Berlin's Mitte is like walking into an ancient, alien tomb. This forbidding concrete monolith, built by the Nazis in 1942,  is now the home of an eccentric private art collection.  Inside the building's almost anthill-like network of  underground corridors and crypts, numerous swirling shapes and colors spark the walls into lurid illuminations.   A flood of phantasmagoric images washes over the senses - kinetic sculptures twisting with reptilian menace, multimedia installations flickering with layered meanings. Each new room opens like a portal into a new creative artistic mind - and the story about the building is as exciting as the art which is  displayed inside it. During the war, the bunker sheltered several thousand  civilians from the massive, nightly bombings that hit Berlin. In 1945 the Red Army repurposed the building for prisoners of war and it later became an East German warehouse. After the wall tumble...

We started our travels in 2024 at our house in the Ardeche mountains of Southern France. And - we had four absolutely miserable weeks!!! While Northern Europe experienced a lovely spring, we stayed mostly indoors,  covered in duvets, while persistent rain and even sludge beat against our windows. Well - this is now rainwater under the bridge. And plenty of it! We survived - and, eventually, we escaped  - and yesterday we arrived in a sunny, warm Berlin, where our new neighbors  were hanging out in some of Kreuzberg's many outdoor cafes. ----------------- o ----------------- Today we used a lovely Ascension day to make our own ascent onto what is probably one of the weirdest places you can visit in all of Berlin - the top of the Teufelberg mountain far out in the Grunewald forest. This rubble mountain turned Cold War listening post turned graffiti wonderland is a palimpsest of the last 80 years of German turmoil and rebirth. The approach to Teufelberg is unassuming - a...

Our village of Antraigues looks so peaceful from afar, but this weekend it sprang to life as the center of the annual Ardeche chestnut festival drawing neighbors from all over the surrounding Cevennes mountains. Crisp autumn air and the scent of woodsmoke greeted us as we walked out from our townhouse and into the square just as the festivities were beginning.  Villagers mingled happily, voices rising in laughter as they awaited the evening's revelries. Tables groaned under the weight of honeyed figs, freshly cooked chestnuts, wheels of soft cheese, and loaves of crusty bread.  The rich aroma of roasted meats drifted from fires crackling nearby, while children scampered about, their delighted shrieks echoing off ancient stonewalls. As darkness fell, an air of celebration took hold under the light of the full harvest moon.  Friends clustered together, clinking gla...