When I was young, I saw the movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off, in the movie theater, and I remember that it had a great impact on me. That was it, I thought - that was how I wanted my life to be, and it was going to be like that, I just knew. And, in a way, it sort of has been. Specifically, I liked the way that Ferris was able to pack SO many things into just one day. That is, of course, the whole conceit of the film, as evidenced clearly in its title: it is about that ONE day off. And of course, that is one of the things that gives the movie its charm - it's got that Aristotelian unity (the classic unities of theater state the action be limited to one plot, one place, one day).
I've traveled my fair share and have learned that while it IS possible to, like Ferris does, to take a day off and see your own home city as if it were a foreign city, it's much easier to do the cramming in of as much stuff possible (at yet a leisurely, vacation-y pace) in an actual foreign city. Things are close, walkable, or you can get there easily. Not all museums take a whole day - great pleasure and a full experience can be had by, for instance, spending 30 minutes having dessert and coffee or tea in the mid-afternoon in some sweet cafe with a spectacular view. I've done it: the Swiss Alps, the Greek Islands, the top of the Centres Georges Pompidou in Paris. In fact, my life has been so great that I can't even TELL you all the times I have done just such a civilized and pleasant thing because it's more than I can count.
I remember first encountering travel guru Rick Steves, who, like Ferris, taught me the critical elements of living a day to the fullest, in an urban area. Rick said, don't think you have to spend all day and see everything. "Assume you will come back," is one of his mantras. This allows you to have a sense of lively interest (and provide some motivation when spirits flag and feet ache) rather than a feeling of rising panic as the day goes by - so quickly! If you do it right, you won't feel rushed at all. You prepare, you cover what you can, and the you see and do as much as possible. And then you relax, and say, wow, ______ (insert name of city) was great!
Rick suggests, and I agree, seeing only what you're interested in. Don't linger when you don't care (obviously, this works best with solo travel, or an agenda-free companion). Take it in and MOVE ON. The moving on is key. He gives an example - instead of thinking you can only see one village/city per day, try to do more.
Say you are in Village A, and you arrived there yesterday evening, in time for dinner. Rise early(ish), have breakfast or at least coffee with a view, maybe stroll a main street for a few minutes, or pop into the local church or site. Then hop on a train, say by 10am, head to Village B, jump off and stroll. Have lunch - splurge. See that local generic site - the Bones of St. So-and-So, or the bronze doors depicting the seven deadly sins. Sample the local tea / chocolate / cheese / beer / wine, etc during an afternoon snack. Snap a few pics, and get back on the train. Arrive in Village C, in time to dine and spend the night there. In this way, you can fit in many more smaller sites without lengthening your trip.
Now, this method also works brilliantly for a one day trip in one city - the villages become sites, and instead of village A, B and C, you have to figure out how to fit in the Colosseum/Forum, the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter's because, really, which one would you want to have to say you skipped? It can even be applied to seeing one, large overwhelming site - like the Louvre. I once had four hours to get through the Louvre, and I did - and yes, I had been before (a while ago, true) and yes, I assumed I would be back one day (and I already have been since). So I stopped at what I was interested in, paused at any famous / noteworthy works, and moved right past anything I wasn't at all interested in. I didn't spend time looking at supposedly famous things that don't hold my interest. I moved on.
Over the years, I have developed this ability - to see a lot in a way that isn't rushed. From Zurich to Vancouver to Istanbul to Dublin, I've found myself there just for the day, and I've become a bit of a master on packing in fun. As an example, I found myself in Chicago once for work - had never been before, and our eight-store tour ended early. As others scrambled for a flight out that night, I did some quick planning. (Planning is also key: know beforehand, if possible, what's open, closed, best and skippable). My group broke around 5pm, and in less than 24 hours, I went to see a David Mamet play, had dinner, went to a duelling pianos bar and had drinks, slept, packed and checked out, went to breakfast, saw the giant Bean in Millennium Park ("Cloud Gate" is the massive artwork's official title, but it just looks like a big silver Bean), went to the Art Institute of Chicago and still got to the airport in time to catch my 3pm flight.
It wasn't until I was actually AT the Art Institute and standing in front of Seurat's "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" that it occurred to me that this was the original example, long-ago planted in my mind of what a full, adult life should look like - the scene where Ferris and company stand in front of the pointillist masterpiece and fall into it was so irrevocably stuck in my psyche that when I was there for the first and only time, I felt like I was following on my own footsteps.
Now I live in San Francisco, which is, and not just in my opinion, one of the great cities of the world. Because I live here, I can suffer from that condition for which there is no name (as far as I am aware) but which everyone knows about - that of not visiting the classic sites, not eating at the famous restaurants, not attending the popular festivals, etc - even though they are right in your home town, or relatively close by. I've never been to Burning Man, a mere five hours away; others come from Spain and Russia and Australia - and I can't be bothered? But you know, if you like to travel, and have a regular job, you tend to spend your time off in OTHER cities, and never get to your own. You have to really make an effort, a concerted effort. I have a list, I keep a list compiled from various books and magazines, recommending this small museum or that new restaurant. I try to attend at least 2 - 3 major festivals per year, and a few small minor ones (ZineFest, anyone?).
Yesterday, I took the day off and decided to have a San Francisco day, and pretend that instead of living here, I'm visiting for just a day (except I slept in, which is a no-no when traveling on a tight timetable). Pretending you don't normally live there is a great way to see the city you live in. I usually take public transit, to make the illusion complete, but I wanted to see an exhibit at the Palace of the Legion of Honor, which is very difficult to get to via Muni. So I drove - but I drove my new car, new to me anyway, which made it feel sort of like a rental. I was having fun breezing down the Great Highway, sunroof open, clear ocean views. San Francisco is beautiful in the sun. I stopped at Louis' near the Cliff House, a classic 10-table diner perched right on the side of the cliff - mediocre eggs but spectacular views.
Then it was off to the exhibit that I was making an effort to see: "Royal Treasures from the Louvre: Louis XIV to Marie Antoinette," one of those small yet impressive shows - full of exquisite and expensive objects d'art. I can never get enough of them: a shell-shaped cup carved from a single amethyst, snuff boxes decorated with diamonds, sapphires, rubies and pearls, miniature portraits with details SO tiny you can barely see them (and how did the artists see them, much less paint them?) and the like. Gifts that kings gave each other - snuff boxes were apparently a classic diplomat gift for a couple decades before the French Revolution. And every item was made with first class materials, by the finest artisan craftsfolk. Nothing was too good for the King.
I am always very impressed by the detail the workmanship, the finery of these items. I can never get enough, and there are usually only at the really giant museums - no smaller ones can afford them - where they get lost in my memory, fighting with pictures and tapestries and re-created period rooms. It was a real treat to see just a few, enough to take in - some of them never having left France before. I stood looking at a row of snuff boxes, all gold, absolutely covered in gems, diamonds the size of my knuckles. How does one transport something like this, I wondered? Security has to be tough, plus who has to be the one to pick up and pack the Sevres china, hoping they don't drop it? I hate standing next to breakable works of art, always concerned some passer by will jostle me and I'll be the one to smash the Grecian urn.
Then I headed back home, dropped off the car and hitched a ride to Golden Gate Park with the boyfriend, to spend a half an hour laying in the bright, chill winter sun near the Conservatory of Flowers, listening to the omnipresent amateur Dead-like jam, very nice for mellowing out in the park. Then it was off to The Mission, to do a few things on my SF-only Bucket List: 1) visit Bi-Rite Market, 2) get some ice cream at Bi-Rite Creamery, and 3) finally eat at Gracias Madre. I did all of them. Bi-Rite was tiny, gourmet, amazing, and packed, and I bought some expensive cheese, expensive chocolate covered rye crackers, expensive truffle oil and sea salt almonds and a few limequats. I got sucked in, my bill was $26 for basically snacks. Good snacks, though.
There was indeed a line at the Creamery, as every magazine I've ever read about it has mentioned. I think I even saw it mentioned in the New Yorker - and everyone recommends the salted caramel, so I had to get that. I also tried the orange cardamom, which tasted like India. This ice cream has been praised roundly and repeatedly, I thought there was no way it could live up to the hype, but it was actually completely unlike any I've ever had and I'm certain I will go back.
I felt the same way about Gracias Madre - the Mexican cafe incarnation of Cafe Gratitude (which I have never been to, which is weird since I've even partnered professionally with the founders, attended their workshop too); people say how great it is, it can't possibly be that great, and then it was. Some of the most delicious Mexican food ever, AND it was vegan. Amazing. Plus it was warm and inviting, very nice for a single diner. And then I was back at home by 7:00pm, for Friday night wine and cheese, having spent a lovely day in a lovely city. And that was my day off. I'm not sure it was, you know, John Hughes quality, but hey, I had a good time.
I've traveled my fair share and have learned that while it IS possible to, like Ferris does, to take a day off and see your own home city as if it were a foreign city, it's much easier to do the cramming in of as much stuff possible (at yet a leisurely, vacation-y pace) in an actual foreign city. Things are close, walkable, or you can get there easily. Not all museums take a whole day - great pleasure and a full experience can be had by, for instance, spending 30 minutes having dessert and coffee or tea in the mid-afternoon in some sweet cafe with a spectacular view. I've done it: the Swiss Alps, the Greek Islands, the top of the Centres Georges Pompidou in Paris. In fact, my life has been so great that I can't even TELL you all the times I have done just such a civilized and pleasant thing because it's more than I can count.
I remember first encountering travel guru Rick Steves, who, like Ferris, taught me the critical elements of living a day to the fullest, in an urban area. Rick said, don't think you have to spend all day and see everything. "Assume you will come back," is one of his mantras. This allows you to have a sense of lively interest (and provide some motivation when spirits flag and feet ache) rather than a feeling of rising panic as the day goes by - so quickly! If you do it right, you won't feel rushed at all. You prepare, you cover what you can, and the you see and do as much as possible. And then you relax, and say, wow, ______ (insert name of city) was great!
Rick suggests, and I agree, seeing only what you're interested in. Don't linger when you don't care (obviously, this works best with solo travel, or an agenda-free companion). Take it in and MOVE ON. The moving on is key. He gives an example - instead of thinking you can only see one village/city per day, try to do more.
Say you are in Village A, and you arrived there yesterday evening, in time for dinner. Rise early(ish), have breakfast or at least coffee with a view, maybe stroll a main street for a few minutes, or pop into the local church or site. Then hop on a train, say by 10am, head to Village B, jump off and stroll. Have lunch - splurge. See that local generic site - the Bones of St. So-and-So, or the bronze doors depicting the seven deadly sins. Sample the local tea / chocolate / cheese / beer / wine, etc during an afternoon snack. Snap a few pics, and get back on the train. Arrive in Village C, in time to dine and spend the night there. In this way, you can fit in many more smaller sites without lengthening your trip.
Now, this method also works brilliantly for a one day trip in one city - the villages become sites, and instead of village A, B and C, you have to figure out how to fit in the Colosseum/Forum, the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter's because, really, which one would you want to have to say you skipped? It can even be applied to seeing one, large overwhelming site - like the Louvre. I once had four hours to get through the Louvre, and I did - and yes, I had been before (a while ago, true) and yes, I assumed I would be back one day (and I already have been since). So I stopped at what I was interested in, paused at any famous / noteworthy works, and moved right past anything I wasn't at all interested in. I didn't spend time looking at supposedly famous things that don't hold my interest. I moved on.
Over the years, I have developed this ability - to see a lot in a way that isn't rushed. From Zurich to Vancouver to Istanbul to Dublin, I've found myself there just for the day, and I've become a bit of a master on packing in fun. As an example, I found myself in Chicago once for work - had never been before, and our eight-store tour ended early. As others scrambled for a flight out that night, I did some quick planning. (Planning is also key: know beforehand, if possible, what's open, closed, best and skippable). My group broke around 5pm, and in less than 24 hours, I went to see a David Mamet play, had dinner, went to a duelling pianos bar and had drinks, slept, packed and checked out, went to breakfast, saw the giant Bean in Millennium Park ("Cloud Gate" is the massive artwork's official title, but it just looks like a big silver Bean), went to the Art Institute of Chicago and still got to the airport in time to catch my 3pm flight.
It wasn't until I was actually AT the Art Institute and standing in front of Seurat's "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" that it occurred to me that this was the original example, long-ago planted in my mind of what a full, adult life should look like - the scene where Ferris and company stand in front of the pointillist masterpiece and fall into it was so irrevocably stuck in my psyche that when I was there for the first and only time, I felt like I was following on my own footsteps.
Now I live in San Francisco, which is, and not just in my opinion, one of the great cities of the world. Because I live here, I can suffer from that condition for which there is no name (as far as I am aware) but which everyone knows about - that of not visiting the classic sites, not eating at the famous restaurants, not attending the popular festivals, etc - even though they are right in your home town, or relatively close by. I've never been to Burning Man, a mere five hours away; others come from Spain and Russia and Australia - and I can't be bothered? But you know, if you like to travel, and have a regular job, you tend to spend your time off in OTHER cities, and never get to your own. You have to really make an effort, a concerted effort. I have a list, I keep a list compiled from various books and magazines, recommending this small museum or that new restaurant. I try to attend at least 2 - 3 major festivals per year, and a few small minor ones (ZineFest, anyone?).
Yesterday, I took the day off and decided to have a San Francisco day, and pretend that instead of living here, I'm visiting for just a day (except I slept in, which is a no-no when traveling on a tight timetable). Pretending you don't normally live there is a great way to see the city you live in. I usually take public transit, to make the illusion complete, but I wanted to see an exhibit at the Palace of the Legion of Honor, which is very difficult to get to via Muni. So I drove - but I drove my new car, new to me anyway, which made it feel sort of like a rental. I was having fun breezing down the Great Highway, sunroof open, clear ocean views. San Francisco is beautiful in the sun. I stopped at Louis' near the Cliff House, a classic 10-table diner perched right on the side of the cliff - mediocre eggs but spectacular views.
Then it was off to the exhibit that I was making an effort to see: "Royal Treasures from the Louvre: Louis XIV to Marie Antoinette," one of those small yet impressive shows - full of exquisite and expensive objects d'art. I can never get enough of them: a shell-shaped cup carved from a single amethyst, snuff boxes decorated with diamonds, sapphires, rubies and pearls, miniature portraits with details SO tiny you can barely see them (and how did the artists see them, much less paint them?) and the like. Gifts that kings gave each other - snuff boxes were apparently a classic diplomat gift for a couple decades before the French Revolution. And every item was made with first class materials, by the finest artisan craftsfolk. Nothing was too good for the King.
I am always very impressed by the detail the workmanship, the finery of these items. I can never get enough, and there are usually only at the really giant museums - no smaller ones can afford them - where they get lost in my memory, fighting with pictures and tapestries and re-created period rooms. It was a real treat to see just a few, enough to take in - some of them never having left France before. I stood looking at a row of snuff boxes, all gold, absolutely covered in gems, diamonds the size of my knuckles. How does one transport something like this, I wondered? Security has to be tough, plus who has to be the one to pick up and pack the Sevres china, hoping they don't drop it? I hate standing next to breakable works of art, always concerned some passer by will jostle me and I'll be the one to smash the Grecian urn.
Then I headed back home, dropped off the car and hitched a ride to Golden Gate Park with the boyfriend, to spend a half an hour laying in the bright, chill winter sun near the Conservatory of Flowers, listening to the omnipresent amateur Dead-like jam, very nice for mellowing out in the park. Then it was off to The Mission, to do a few things on my SF-only Bucket List: 1) visit Bi-Rite Market, 2) get some ice cream at Bi-Rite Creamery, and 3) finally eat at Gracias Madre. I did all of them. Bi-Rite was tiny, gourmet, amazing, and packed, and I bought some expensive cheese, expensive chocolate covered rye crackers, expensive truffle oil and sea salt almonds and a few limequats. I got sucked in, my bill was $26 for basically snacks. Good snacks, though.
There was indeed a line at the Creamery, as every magazine I've ever read about it has mentioned. I think I even saw it mentioned in the New Yorker - and everyone recommends the salted caramel, so I had to get that. I also tried the orange cardamom, which tasted like India. This ice cream has been praised roundly and repeatedly, I thought there was no way it could live up to the hype, but it was actually completely unlike any I've ever had and I'm certain I will go back.
I felt the same way about Gracias Madre - the Mexican cafe incarnation of Cafe Gratitude (which I have never been to, which is weird since I've even partnered professionally with the founders, attended their workshop too); people say how great it is, it can't possibly be that great, and then it was. Some of the most delicious Mexican food ever, AND it was vegan. Amazing. Plus it was warm and inviting, very nice for a single diner. And then I was back at home by 7:00pm, for Friday night wine and cheese, having spent a lovely day in a lovely city. And that was my day off. I'm not sure it was, you know, John Hughes quality, but hey, I had a good time.
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