See life as an adventure. Like a film in which you are the main actor. Dreamed of escaping, on a whim, from a crush, elsewhere, to feel his pulse beating. Living. Running away during a surprise, improvised or totally precise weekend in Europe is one of those condiments that spice up the flavors of our existence.
If I had to escape somewhere in Europe for a weekend…
Budapest
I close my eyes and I see, I see… I see Budapest first. Its cocktail bars with devastating effects and trendy post-acalyptic decor. At that time I took black and white photos to justify my incomprehension in the face of the thousand and one buttons of the SLR freshly acquired for the trip. Bars so heterogeneous at the limit of the overrated, sometimes, but sparkling in excess. We will wash our nights of debauchery there, forgetting the vices in the morning, lulled by the lapping of terms. Budapest suspended in a past splendor and opulence. A thin courtesan in a costume that is now too big, she still has that bewitching look. A must.
Rome
Rome. Because I loved haunting, at night, the ruins illuminated under the mysterious mist. Much less touristy at these times, believe me, the city does not lose its charms. And you will always find a café or a pizzeria, lost somewhere, to satisfy your hunger. Me and my photographic sword at the blow. And that I do not despair, if I return for a fourth trip, to capture it under the sun. Obviously, the most is that we can always slip away to Venice if the rain in Rome drives us to despair.
Port
Port.For the wine, for the architecture of the casa de Musica. Gugenheim notes. Then for the wine again. We are French, damn it! We must honor the red that tingles. Let’s not forget port oranges. Bought at a market stall. The best I have eaten to date. If indeed I had been served real oranges before. Proust had his madeleine, I have my oranges. You have to live with the times. On the other hand, Port wine is very treacherous. Especially when doing guided tours of the cellars. At that time, I took the photos after consumption. Amateur mistake. Nothing good came of it. An old portrait where I take a break, half drunk, half ridiculous, just before the carnage. But fortunately there is the sea not far away to wake us up from torpor. We will do like his little old people, bundled up like it’s -15 when it’s 10 degrees under the sun. We will sit on a bench to hear the song of the ocean.
The mountain: The Hautes-Alpes
The Hautes Alpes. I will not look too far, I come back. And I’m going back there shortly, I’ll tell you about it… For a sports weekend , I’m going to eat a pie from Laura and Louis, the keepers, at 3450m, at the Refuge de l’Aigle. And if the courage and strength were lacking to climb up there, I would be happy to settle for Claude’s aperitif, at the Buffère refuge. Oh and then a Nadette pie, I think we’re still greedy. For your part, if you prefer sports weekends, sites like weekendesk offer relaxing stays to recharge your batteries in the mountains.
Scotland
Scotland , the same. One of my trips this summer. A nice trip. But I don’t think there are direct routes to the Isle of Skye. There are still so many hikes waiting for me there. You’ll have to settle for Edinburgh for your getaway, I’m afraid. We’ve seen worse… the view of the city from the mounds of Arthur’s Seat reminds us that we are in the Highlands.
Tromso
Tromso. Nordic Paris. It seems to me that you can already appreciate the aurora borealis there at this time, I have only experienced “only” the charms of the midnight light… under the dust of stars, I wonder what colors the houses will have colored wood? Will I have time for a short cruise? Norway made me love boat contemplation so much…
Warsaw
Warsaw. In the footsteps of Chopin. I believe that Warsaw really and definitely seduced me thanks to the notes played during a concert in Łazienki Park. (Who dared to insinuate that I was bought with vodka? Who? Good meals, maybe but not with vodka, let’s see…) And then I made a mistake. Life in Warsaw seems much nicer than I imagined. A bit like Paris in fact… Especially when you have a guide passionate about life who knows how to open your eyes and pass on her passion to you. Warsaw deserves your attention for a weekend.
Ireland
Around Belfast. I can’t tell you where exactly. No it’s not Giant Causeway. It is a place on the way of which I no longer have any trace. One of those hotels lost somewhere along the road along the coast. Oh if only my memory was better. I remember stopping there for a meal. There was a leather sofa in front of the hearth in which a few logs crackled. Century-old lamps with old-fashioned charm on the tables. I just wanted to sit there, pick up a book and forget myself for weeks. As if suspended in time. The sea roared nearby. venting his anger on the tiny panes. One day I will go back there. Time for a weekend. To feel the frantic race of existence stop at his door.
