There is so much to do this May in DC. Maybe it’s the nice weather we’ve been having lately, or the surplus of arts and culture events on the agenda that is really making me feel the FOMO. Every weekend there is so much going on to take advantage of. Time to get out and start enjoying!
Touted as one of the very best restaurants in DC by Washingtonian magazine for the past two years, and topping Bon Appétit’s list of best restaurants a few years ago, Rose’s Luxury holds a lofty reputation in the hip, and ever-evolving DC restaurant scene. Located on 8th street, in a charming area in Southeast, Rose’s is ensconced by plenty of other neighborhood bars and restaurants, further lending to it’s amiable, hospitable vibe. I finally got the chance to enjoy dining at Rose’s, and experience the buzz firsthand last week. Verdict: Rose’s lived up to the hype. 10/10.
So, this post is just a tad delayed, but as I’m trying to get back into blogging, I figured my thoughts on Iceland were still worth sharing. Another reason I write these posts is so that I can better remember my own travel experiences, and so that I can easily look back on them – I would highly recommend doing this!
One of the many highlights of Iceland, and what propelled me to venture out there in the first place, was the Northern lights. My cousin and I first saw them faintly streaking across the sky from the Blue Lagoon one night. They weren’t as paramount as they were on our bus tour, but on a clear enough night it is definitely possible to get a glimpse of them from the Lagoon. The next evening we took a tour bus outside of Reykjavik into the middle of nowhere in hopes of getting an even better sighting of them.
Continue reading “exploring Iceland in two feet of snow”
I opened a fortune cookie the other week that told me “you live your life in art.”
Here are some of my favorite things to do in the city when I feel like going on an adventure, or looking for inspiration.
I spent this past Sunday modeling for a project that my friend and co-worker, Chaseedaw, is putting on called the Scarred Photo Gallery. A few years ago, Chaseedaw organized the Alive Again Fashion Show, which featured a cast of models who were all cancer survivors. One day at work, she mentioned to me that she was putting together a photography gallery of models with scars to help fund the fashion show. Having a long scar across my stomach (and also enjoying the idea of being shot by professional photographers), I volunteered to model for her gallery.
As one of my favorite hobbies is seeing indie films (i.e. movies that often lack intricate plot lines, traditional action scenes such as car chases or explosions, and could even be considered to be about nothing) I thought I would review a couple that I’ve seen and enjoyed this summer.
A bike is an instrument of freedom. On it, you can feel the breeze in your hair and against your skin as you pedal faster and faster, riding into the wind or along with it.
Nothing is weighing you down or holding you back. Wearing shorts that cling to the curves of your muscles, hair pulled back, and legs shaved, you blend almost seamlessly into the air swirling around you. The wind is not your enemy, but you are simply swimming in it.
Paris is my playground. Wait, I thought only good things happened there? Like getting my portrait drawn by an old wrinkled artist called Igor in front of le Sacre Cœur, sipping vin chaud at the marché de noel while strolling along Champs-Elysées, or people watching on Saint Germain-des-Près pretending I was observing scenes from a Hemingway novel. Wasn’t this city just a perpetual maze of boulevards and bistros with charming, roll-off-your tongue names?
The other day, a notification popped up from my wordpress app on my phone that announced my “Happy two year anniversary!” It was two years ago that I wrote my first post from a suburban high school just an hour train ride from Paris on the transilien.
So I don’t want to jinx my chances of getting my dream apartment by writing about it (I don’t really know why a little blog post would equate to bad luck, but I feel the need to be overly cautious). What is luck anyways; do we just call it luck when an event with an extremely low probability happens? And if it just comes down to is numbers, then how small do the chances have to be to say that we’re lucky? Or does that depend on our point of view, like how they say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.