Blog

Stockholm’s Many Museums

Stockholm has so many museums! And on top of that, the city itself is practically a museum, considering the well preserved old town (The Gamla Stan) and the impressive, fifteenth-century Royal Palace. Stockholm has never been bombed in war, unlike so many of its European neighbors, and seeing its picturesque, timeless buildings made me wonder yet again what London or Frankfurt would look like if world wars hadn’t ravaged their historical centers. 

Aside from the ABBA Museum, the museums that were at the top of our list for Stockholm were the Vasa, the Nobel, and Gustav III’s Museum of Antiquities. We hit all of them the third day we were in Stockholm, and they were all awesome. I’ll share what we learned and felt about each one.

1. The Vasa Museum –

Before we went to Sweden, we reached out to our old student/good friend Johan, whose father is Swedish to the core, and asked what we should do and eat in Stockholm. (More on the eating later…) The Vasa Museum was at the top of his list of must-see attractions, but he warned us that the Vasa itself was something of an embarrassment for the Swedes. We soon learned why.

The Vasa was a ship that set sail in March of 1628. Phenomenally elaborate, intricately carved, and gigantic, the Vasa was intended to be a symbol of the Swedish navy’s glory. When constructed, the ship glowed with vibrant paint, showing depictions of the Swedish royal family. It carried a record-breaking 64 bronze cannons, enough to instill terror in the heart of every Dane who dared approach it (Sweden and Denmark are eternal enemies, FYI). Truly, the Vasa would have been a crowning achievement for any monarch, and certainly for any shipbuilder. Except that it wasn’t seaworthy…It was only designed for 32 cannons, but hubris got the better of men, who went with the “more is more” approach. 

The Vasa sank within minutes of its maiden launch, killing about thirty passengers and shocking the crowd that stood on the shore. However, because of the peculiar, oxygen-poor chemistry of the Baltic, there were few worms and pests to consume the wreckage, so the Vasa avoided the fate of most wooden ships that rest on the bottom of the sea. 

Today, you can visit the Vasa, which was hauled from the sea about fifty years ago, in a museum built especially to house its corpse. In addition to the massive structure of the boat itself, there are skeletons on view, which enjoyed the same preservation as the Vasa. Archaeologists have done an excellent/horrific job of reconstructing what they imagine the skeletons would have looked like during their heyday, and wax mock-ups of those unfortunate souls line the bottom floor of the museum.

Josephine wasn’t as into the Vasa as I expected. She mainly liked the skeletons. Maybe that’s because it was just a colossal boat, while the skeletons were real, ghoulish bones. But I think it was because we had the crappiest guide ever. 

While I normally line up a guide in each locale based on extensive research, I don’t always have time to expend that effort. I have had success all over the world with companies that match area guides with tourists looking for expert insight. I’ve used Tours by Locals; I’ve used Get Your Guide; I’ve used Viator. They’ve all produced decent guides; some better than others. Well, this time, Get Your Guide did me wrong. We got the biggest dingbat tour guide on record. She didn’t tell us one thing of interest. She didn’t know any details about the Vasa or about its origins. She took us to the museum and had us watch the museum’s film about the ship! That was a first for me. 

Thankfully, Josephine fell and skinned her knee shortly after the visit to the Vasa, so we cut the tour short. Yes, I’m thankful for an injury… 

So the lesson here is, do your research. Find a good guide. Otherwise, you’ll want to gouge out your own eyes.

2. The Nobel Prize Museum

Wow. Alfred Nobel. What a dude. Made an incalculable fortune in dynamite. Had no children. Left pretty much all he’d ever made to create the Nobel Prize. It’s hard to imagine how much good has been prompted by the quest for that accolade and how much has been celebrated by its award. 

The Nobel Prize Museum was a bit less grand than the name might first insinuate, but it’s still eminently charming. It’s in a stately old building, formerly the stock exchange, located on a beautiful square in the Gamla Stan (the Old Town). Inside, you’ll find all manner of artifacts from past Nobel laureates. I didn’t take pictures of anything, and now I’m regretful of that because there are cool tidbits about such towering figures as Marie Curie, Watson & Crick, Malala, etc. There are also movies about lesser known laureates and interactive stations to learn more about their accomplishments.

Josephine wasn’t super jazzed about the exhibits. She likes the idea of science, but she still thinks it’s just mixing liquids together and making explosions. She likes literature, but we’re not to Nobel Prize winning stories just yet. She likes peace… Anyway, it wasn’t her jam until we found the kids’ sections of the museum. They have a little theater, where she created a puppet show, and they had a science section where she got to smell different chemicals and rank them in order of preference. Overall, it was a really fun stop. She could have spent more time than we allowed her. I’m not sure it’s an A+ experience for every child, but it was perfect for our girl, who needs just a pinprick of stimulation to let her imagination run wild.

3. Gustav III’s Museum of Antiquities

Anyone who really knows me knows of my deep, abiding love of all things ancient. It turns out, King Gustav III of Sweden shared that love! He was King in the latter half of the eighteenth century, not long after Italian would-be archaeologists started digging in earnest at Pompeii (that began in 1748). 

On a tour of Rome in 1784, Gustav III became enamored of the marbles in the Vatican, and he set out to accumulate his own collection of ancient sculptures. By the time of his assassination in 1792, Gustav had acquired all manner of sculptures, including busts of Roman emperors, like Tiberius and Nero, and other important figures, like Brutus and Lepidus. I’m sure the busts have been compared with other representations of those historical luminaries, so they’re likely accurate, but I also imagine Gustav would have been an easy guy to fool. He was pretty obsessed, so much so that he traveled around Europe in disguise, seeking out sculptures as the Count of Haga, rather than as the King of Sweden. Crazy.

I love looking at ancient busts, whether they are assigned the proper identities or not. I just like seeing a millennia-old visage and staring into its eyes. So that hall of busts was pretty great for me.

Josephine was more interested in the Gallery of Muses, which has statutes of all nine muses. Forget the fact that they’re likely not statues of muses, but rather a hodgepodge of muse-y looking statues. The hall itself is quite impressive in its black-and-white starkness. It’s quiet and relaxing. I’m sure Gustav harbored great plans of kicking back with a glass of wine and musing over his muses. Sadly, he died of a gunshot wound inflicted at a masquerade ball. Shortly after his death, Gustav’s glorious gallery was opened to the public, becoming Sweden’s first public art museum. Would Gustav have approved? We’ll never know.

Author: Jessica Givens

Before visiting Stockholm, my only real interaction with the city was through Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo trilogy. I had no idea the city was an archipelago, a series of islands connected by ferries. It’s sort of like Venice (and I had like five people tell me Stockholm is the Venice of the North), but the Venetian vaporettos are tourist attractions — anything but cheap — while the ferries in Stockholm are basically buses. They’re not romantic; they’re practical. And there’s something charming about the humdrummery of rapid mass transportation on the water. We took quite a few ferries while we were there because they were so convenient.

Despite the ease of jumping on a ferry, we also felt compelled to do an actual boat tour. After doing quite a bit of research, I decided to do the Under the Bridges boat tour. In hindsight, I can’t believe I selected that one. The reviews were super sketchy. I just didn’t see any others that were of an agreeable length. I didn’t want to spend an entire day on a boat. What if Josephine got restless? What if I got bored? I knew from the get-go that I wasn’t going to like a group tour boat. It’s absolutely not my jam. But I also didn’t want the pressure of having to look entertained when I thought I might not be. And so we did the Under the Bridges tour, which departed from the dock in front of our hotel.

As we took our seats at a little booth in the boat, I knew it was bound to be an iffy experience. We had little headphones at our seats to listen to a pre-recorded lecture about the city, which we could tune to pretty much any language on Earth. I wasn’t keen on putting community headphones in my ears under any circumstances, and when I gave it a shot, the static nearly blew my eardrums. I decided just to watch the scenery and guess what I was seeing. Besides, I wasn’t just there for myself. I was there because I knew Josephine would love the polished wooden boat, and she’d love gliding under the 12 bridges through the various locks. 

In the end, while it wasn’t the boat tour of my dreams, it introduced me to my favorite part of Stockholm: the allotment gardens. All over the city are what appear to be little versions of Tolkien’s Shire. The hillsides are dotted with picturesque cottages, surrounded by tiny fruit and vegetable gardens. The allotment gardens are over 100 years old, and they were created to give city dwellers a piece of the countryside. Apparently, today, there’s an extremely long waitlist to even be considered to purchase one, and from the ones we passed on boat and on foot, we could tell they were beautifully cared for. People had set out little tables and chairs for dining al fresco; they had little places to cook and wash dishes. I’m sure some people even sleep out there in good weather. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy for those bucolic getaways.

When we later hiked through some of the allotment gardens on the hipster island of Sodermalm, Josephine pretended we were in a world of Hansel and Gretel. That’s how far away from civilization it seems. And I wouldn’t have known to look for them if it hadn’t been for that boat tour. So, if you go to Stockholm, do a boat tour. But do a private one!

Author: Jessica Givens

Our most recent trip to Europe was more haphazardly thrown together than any I can conjure in recent memory. I didn’t arrange any elaborate tours. I barely read about any restaurants. I knew practically none of the history of any place we visited. Essentially, I just used the advice of my friend Rae, who said, “Go to Denmark!” as a launchpad to assemble cursory travel plans and haul our tiny family across the proverbial pond. 

At first, I planned for Sweden and Denmark, with a night in Helsinki tossed in, just so we could cross Finland off the list. However, when we got to Stockholm, I found an unusual quaintness — a small big city-ness (or was it a large small town-iness?) — that welcomed us with open arms, and I simply didn’t want to leave. 

In Stockholm, we stayed at the Grand Hotel, a classic, where Nobel laureates and their families have stayed for over a century when in Stockholm to receive their prizes. It’s very stately, with a beautiful lobby and excellent service. It’s also perfectly located on a little harbor, just across from the Royal Palace and the House of Parliament, right where boats launch to take tourists on cruises through the city’s many canals or to ferry visitors and residents to various sites on the city’s different islands. 

When we arrived at the hotel, our room wasn’t quite ready, so we had to wait on the pier out front for a while. As we cashed in the free hot chocolate/coffee vouchers the hotel had so thoughtfully given us, a cool, but not cold, breeze ruffled our hair, even as a summery sun beat down on our heads and shoulders. I realized in that moment that we’d picked the right place to visit, a city whose summer was Houston’s winter.

As an aside, I was further convinced we’d made the right choice when I split my newly shellacked middle fingernail and saw there was no way I’d make it two weeks without a visit to a nail salon. In Spain, I’ve struggled time and time again to get a decent manicure. I mean, STRUGGLED. I mean, the shellac peeled off all ten of my nails in a matter of hours. In Florida, I’ve had my nails turn into a comedy show. Think lumps and bumps where smooth polish should be. I feared Sweden might be the same, but I had to risk it. My hangnail was too unbearable to ignore and too gigantic to handle on my own. So, I googled nail salons near my hotel, and I landed on what turned out to be the most fabulous salon I’ve seen in ages — Nail Democracy. The sweet ladies there ushered me right in, sans appointment. They did their best to match my quirky green polish, so I could just fix that wrecked middle finger, rather than squander valuable time on a full manicure. And within minutes, I was back out on the road in Ostermalm, pounding the pavement back to Josephine and Jamil. If you’re ever in a nail bind on vacation in Europe, I hope it’ll be in Sweden. 

But back to our first day in Stockholm! 

I wanted to make each moment last in Sweden because we only had a few nights there. Fortunately, Stockholm is loaded with museums, many of which are a short walk from the Grand Hotel. One of those museums happens to be dedicated to ABBA, whose music flows through so many of my memories. I knew the lyrics to the Super Trouper album before I could read; I can still sing the entire Chess soundtrack by heart. And since Josephine was a tiny baby, my mom has sung Dancing Queen to her, Josephine the Dancing Queen. So that seemed like the perfect place to spend our first afternoon in Stockholm, a place that could hold our interest despite our zombified state after the long flight over. 

The ABBA museum was really the perfect stop. I learned more about Bjorn, Benny, Agnetha, and Frida than I ever wanted to know, from their humble beginnings to their post-ABBA careers. We saw their original costumes. We belted Take a Chance on Me in a mock sound booth. We touched their actual mixer. We took pictures with their eerily good wax figures. While a weird tribute in some ways, the museum was really fun, and Josephine absolutely loved it. By the time we made the trek back to the hotel, we all felt like we’d made maximum use of our first day, and I felt confident Josephine would sleep like a baby. 

Author: Jessica Givens

There are some activities that I’m sure make aliens scratch their heads and marvel at the stupidity of humans. Chicken races, gambling, skydiving… Skiing also probably makes its way onto that list, too. We wrap ourselves in clothes that ALMOST keep out the cold, ride on glorified swing sets up beyond the clouds, and strap unwieldy sticks to our feet and hands. Then, we stare directly down a cliffside, swallow hard, and turn those awkward sticks towards the village below.

Every time I take that plunge, I oscillate wildly between ecstasy and terror. But as soon as I reach the bottom, I shimmy back over to the nearest lift and ride back up to the very tippy-top – because it’s just SO fun. I presume many of you know the feeling. And then there’s the après ski…And the camaraderie, especially when you go with a group of friends, musing late into the night about aches and pains, powder and ice.

One of my earliest memories of traveling with my parents is of clambering into a giant rental car in Denver (not sure how giant it really was since that was way before SUVs). Rays of morning sunlight were just beginning to poke through dark winter clouds. Just before we entered I-20, we saw an orange sign, advertising fresh donuts. We pulled over, and our family friend, Pete, went in. He came out with a pile of bear claws and cinnamon twists. My memories of laughing and joking on the way to Aspen are forever permeated by the smell of fresh pastries.

I want Josephine to have similar memories. I want her to experience those same thrills. But I also want her to do it safely, and I think that it’s so much easier to learn to ski as a child than as an adult. So, three times in the past two winters, we’ve loaded up the ski gear and gone to Colorado.

Our first trip was to Aspen with my lifelong best friend, Jennifer, and her family. She has a son who’s just a few months older than Josephine, and I thought we could teach them to ski by dropping them off at ski school. After all, that’s how I learned to ski, right? Or maybe it wasn’t…Imprinted in my mind is a vivid nightmare of failed attempts at pizza and french fries and of certain death as I drifted towards the edge of the trail, too unskilled to change my trajectory. Would the ski instructors have noticed my absence? We’ll never know, but Josephine had roughly the same outcome. She did five days of Snowmass ski school and learned basically nothing.

This year, we decided to do things differently. Our friends told us what we’d erred in the past; we needed to bite the cost bullet and put Josephine in private lessons, and that we’d see marked changes in a matter of hours. So we headed to Beaver Creek, which has a family-friendly reputation, where I skied when it first opened in like 1982 on another family trip with friends.

From the moment we met up with her ski instructor, Jay, I had a good feeling. And by the end of the day, she was taking lifts to the top of the mountain and coming down on trails through the trees. By the end of the long weekend, she was skiing greens with no worries and blues with only minor trepidation.

For spring break, we were able to link up with some of our closest friends from Houston and go back to Beaver Creek, where we spent another week and put Josephine in even more lessons. It was absolutely phenomenal to see Josephine cruise down the mountain with her pals and even better to cook, laugh, and play cards with their parents.

I feel certain that it will become an annual pilgrimage for us, taking Josephine to ski with a group of families and enjoying the trip on so many levels. I also feel confident that Josephine is building skills that will last a lifetime. She will be comfortable going on ski trips with friends in college and beyond, and I won’t have to fret nonstop that she’s going to get hurt. (Josephine is no risk-taker; she’s scared of your basic playground slide.) And the shared enjoyment of a sport will give us another way to connect with our child as she gets older. Maybe even in the gloomy times, when she thinks we’re the downright worst, she’ll still have fun strapping on skis, navigating moguls, and gliding through powder with us.

Neighborhoods really matter in Madrid. Tourists often opt to stay in the center of the old town, where the major sights are located, like the Palacio Real, the Plaza Mayor, and the phenomenal Prado and Reina Sofía Museums. I can see the allure of the area at first blush. I felt it myself when I stayed in Madrid the first time, intrigued by the narrow, brick-lined streets, the hodgepodge styles of yesteryear (think Art Nouveau storefronts on neoclassical buildings), the innumerable bars and restaurants, all hawking paella. I still love walking around that area, but over time, I’ve noticed that the tourists outnumber the locals on those romantic alleys, and I’ve learned that paella, while delicious, is about as Madrileno as apple pie — and pretty terrible outside of the eastern coast of Spain. 

As we’ve visited and spent protracted periods of time in Madrid, I’ve gotten to stay in other parts of the city, as well. We’ve stayed across the Gran Via in Malasana and Chueca, known for world-class partying, a thriving LGBTQ community, and great bars. We’ve also stayed in Chamberi, a gorgeous neighborhood with one of the best restaurant strips in the city, Calle Ponzano, and the stunning Sorolla Museum, as well as Princesa, which is a little farther north and has abundant tapas. However, our hearts have settled in Barrio Salamanca. 

Salamanca is admittedly a more uppity part of Madrid. It’s home to Chanel, Gucci, and the like, and it’s where Russian oligarchs have purchased penthouses. That might make it sound like the neighborhood lacks character, but somehow Salamanca has retained local flavor in the midst of its cosmopolitanism. And it’s SUPER kid-friendly, especially the Castellano part. The verdant Parque del Buen Retiro is just a skip away, so Josephine can run wild, watch performances, gawk at giant koi, and beat the heat at one of the many helado shops. There’s also a covered playground right on Calle Serrano, the main shopping street in the district, where Josephine has met tons of adorable kids and played safely for hours on end. I can’t recommend it highly enough. 

The only issue in Salamanca has been where to stay. While the tourist center has the Four Seasons, the Mandarin Oriental, the Westin Palace, among others, Salamanca really just has the Rosewood, the Hotel Wellington, and the Unico. I love the Rosewood, but it’s super expensive over the holidays, and I didn’t feel good about asking anyone to hemorrhage like that. I also love the Unico, but the rooms are teensy weensy. On this trip, we found ourselves for the first time at the Hotel Wellington, which has a sort of dated vibe but which wound up offering exactly what we needed. We stayed in one of the newest rooms, located in the spa area. It was gigantic with a massive relaxation shower and a huge closet — really cool. And we had access to Club Wellington, which was really great. They had wonderful breakfasts, as well as snacks and drinks throughout the day. The service at the Club was so old-school and on-point; we just loved it. 

So, I would recommend that families stay in Salamanca. Singles and young couples might prefer something more central. Wherever you stay, though, the subway is phenomenal, and you’ll easily be able to get to other parts of the city quickly and seamlessly. And now that Google Maps gives subway routes, there’s just no excuse not to use the metro. Whatever you do, get out and explore Madrid; see the variety in the city’s haunts. Find the place that makes your heart happy.

Author: Jessica Givens.

We only children often look longingly at larger families, particularly on vacations, when we see brothers and sisters laughing and joking, making shared memories that just don’t happen for us. Josephine is really such a good sport. She colors and draws when we go out to eat; she takes pretend notes on little notepads when we go on tours; she poses for fun solo pictures at monuments. But I know she wishes she had a partner in crime – at least sometimes! So, when our good friends, Lindsey and Andy, asked if we could take an adventure with them and their daughter, Lochlyn (also an only child), over the Christmas break, we leapt at the chance.

We pondered a few different destinations, but we landed on Spain because Jamil and I know it so well and because neither Lindsey nor Andy had ever spent much time in Madrid, one of my favorite cities on Earth. I wanted to show them around. Additionally, it was Lochlyn’s birthday on December 28, and I wanted to make it amazing, since she’d never been able to celebrate with friends before. 

Because Lindsey and Andy weren’t familiar with Madrid, I set out to plan Lochlyn’s birthday activities. I wanted to do something historical, something just plain fun, and I wanted to introduce Lochlyn and her family to phenomenal Spanish food. 

We started the day by walking to the Palacio Real, where we had hired a guide to give us a private tour. The Palacio Real in Madrid is really special. With 3,418 rooms, it’s absolutely gigantic, the largest in Western Europe, and they rotate which rooms are available to visit, so you can see something different each time you go. It’s also fully furnished (at least, it is in the parts open to the public), which is very unusual. Normally, when you visit a castle or a palace, it’s empty; you have to use your imagination about what kinds of fineries might have filled those cavernous spaces. At the Palacio Real, you can see the original furniture, the art, the workmanship. You can also marvel at the Royal Quartet, a collection of decorated Stradivarius instruments, 4 of only 11 such pieces in existence. In addition, you can enter the throne room and see where the King and Queen of Spain still receive guests today. None of that is on view at Versailles. Oh, and because it was Christmastime when we went, the palace was displaying its full nativity scene, which dates back to the 1700s. It stretches all around a massive room and has elaborate scenes of daily life in the Enlightenment Era. You should make this a must-see on a winter trip to Madrid.

(The guide made all the difference, by the way. We found him through Babylon Tours, and his name was David. You should definitely request him if you want a tour of Madrid, any tour at all.)

From the Palacio Real, we made our way to lunch at Cervecería Cervantes, our all-time favorite, very traditional tapas bar in Madrid. Cervantes always has an intimidating line stretching out the front door, but it’s usually not as bad of a wait as you might think, and it’s totally worth the effort. Cervantes bustles with energy, Spaniards of all ages congregate around tiny tables on rickety wooden chairs, devouring the finest tortilla espanola and pimientos de Padron in the city. We adore the boquerones (pickled anchovies), the setas (oyster mushrooms) with jamón Serrano, the Ensalada de la Casa, the pulpo a la Gallega (steamed octopus with potatoes and paprika)… Really, it’s all fabulous. Drink the house Rioja wine or have a cana of Mahou beer. Prepare to stay a while and order a ton. 

Clearly, I love it there, so it was a no-brainer for Lochlyn’s birthday lunch. Josephine tried with all her might to convince Lochlyn to fall in love with the fried pimientos (but failed). Lochlyn enjoyed piles of jamón and loads of tortillas. We were all totally satisfied, and it was exciting to see Josephine share her passion for Spanish tapas with a friend. 

If you have that kind of elaborate lunch in Madrid, you’ll be thrilled that it’s such a walking city, because you’ll need a ton of steps to burn off those calories, and winter is ideal in Madrid to do that walking. The temperature ranges from the high 30s in the wee hours to the high 50s when the sun is at its zenith. The major sites are scorching-hot in the summers: in July, you might literally melt in the Puerta del Sol or spontaneously combust in the Plaza Mayor. So winter is really the time to explore. With Lindsey and Andy that day, I walked over 23,000 steps. We might have done even more, except that their stroller got lost in London, so Lochlyn and Josephine had to alternate using ours. A six year old takes a lot of breaks! 

Jamil took full advantage of that tendency by planning an interlude at Ikono, a house of illusions in the same plaza as the Reina Sofía museum. While Lindsey, Andy, and I popped into the Reina Sofía for a quick viewing of Picasso’s Guernica, Jamil took Lochlyn and Josephine to Ikono, where they jumped in a ball pit, stood on “the ceiling”, and generally goofed around. By the time we finished, we barely had enough time to scurry down the Paseo del Prado, past the festive light installations, to our hotel to get ready for dinner at a restaurant that never, ever disappoints (although vegetarians might disagree).

As soon as we knew we were heading to Madrid, I called El Landó to make a reservation for her birthday. El Landó doesn’t do online reservations. I always call, but I’m pretty sure they now also do WhatsApp because I’ve gotten WhatsApp messages from them to confirm my reservations. That might be easier for travelers who don’t speak Spanish. El Landó itself might even seem a little intimidating to some travelers because it’s pretty old school. Think dark wood paneling, white tablecloths, waiters in suits. But it isn’t really stuffy at all; everyone speaks English, the menu is very easy to understand. It’s just old school. 

You go to El Landó for a few things: the tomato appetizer with garlic, the huevos estrellados con jamón (french fries topped with scrambled fried eggs and ham), and the steak. We usually get the churrasco cut, which I think is related to the ribeye, but I’m not sure. Lindsey also ordered the solomillo, which is the closest thing to our filet mignon. They come piping hot and crusty, surrounded by mounds of chunky salt. It’s astonishingly delicious. Always order the house red. It’s great and so reasonable — maybe 30 euros! If you have room for dessert, the flan is wonderful, and they certainly served it with style for Lochlyn’s birthday, adding a giant flare to the top. I watched the spectacle while sipping incredible brandy, warmed over a snifter. As we left, I reflected on the many meals we’ve had at El Landó, from New Year’s Eve dinner to welcome 2016, not knowing I was pregnant, to our anniversary dinner in 2018, to a celebratory welcome of Chris and Carlos to Spain in 2019. It’s always consistent, always posh, always memorable. You should go.

And THAT was Lochlyn’s birthday!

Author: Jessica Givens.

Parting Ways for a Bit

Despite our past trips to the Middle East, Israel never appeared on our itineraries for a few reasons. First, Jamil is half-Palestinian. His entire family immigrated to the US in the 70s because, well, things got pretty uncomfortable for them in Israel. Clearly, he’s not thrilled with the political situation. Second, his family members and some Palestinian friends traveling back to Israel described long hours in the airport with grueling security interviews — not the welcome wagon we want greeting us. Third, we’ve got Lebanese, Egyptian, and Jordanian stamps on our passports. Sounds like red flags to me. Why risk it?

But my mom has mentioned a desire to go to the Holy Land many times recently, so this year, she and my dad trekked off to biblical territory while Jamil and I planned a week with friends in Spain to give Josephine a chance to travel with someone her age. My mom is writing her own set of blog posts to give you insight into how people with physical and age-related limitations travel, but I wanted to provide a little background on the legwork I did to set them up with the trip of a lifetime.

I considered using the tour group that hosted us in Egypt and Jordan last year, but the astronomical prices gave me heartburn. And there aren’t as many nuances to an Israel trip. There are some highlights to hit, but it’s not like a trip to Egypt, where you need to coordinate a tour guide who flies with you all over the country and follows your cruise ship by land up the Nile. For this, I needed an excellent guide with a plush car and a well-appointed hotel. That was pretty much it. So I decided to do it myself.

I was highly concerned about my parents getting held up in the airport for hours on end. My dad’s back nags him constantly, and my mother’s health conditions can strike at any time, leaving her quite undone. I couldn’t fathom them languishing in hard, pleather airport chairs, so I arranged a VIP service and called Israel Welcome to accompany them. On the way in, I went with the super-duper fancy Gold Level, while on the way out, I went a tier down to Silver, skipping the private terminal and just having someone walk them through immigration and security. I figured the Israelis would scrutinize arrivals much more heavily than departures (and I was correct – not a big deal at all). 

A man met my parents at their plane and escorted them to the Fattal Lounge in the private terminal. He collected their bags and took their passports to security while they drank champagne and enjoyed their first Israeli meal of the trip. I’m sure my mom will describe the opulence in greater detail, but what mattered to me was that they were sitting comfortably while the airport security people decided whether they needed to do a cavity search. Ultimately, they did not. In fact, they were in and out more quickly than they would have been in Houston, and the Israel Welcome team then dropped them safely at their hotels. They say it was worth every penny, and for me it really was, too.

With respect to their tours, I initially planned to use the tour guides associated with the Waldorf-Astoria Jerusalem, where they’d be spending five nights. However, the concierge had to serve as a middle man, which kind of drove me crazy. So I forged my own path, relying on TripAdvisor and Google Reviews to find Danny the Digger, who employs a host of historian tour guides. We arranged the tours with my parents’ guide, Moti, through WhatsApp, giving him a summary of what they wanted to see and letting him run with it. My parents said he knew every era of human history, beginning with the dawn of time, easily as knowledgeable as the guides we had in Egypt. It definitely took a little extra effort to plow through the many reviews on the internet, but we saved so much money and sacrificed neither luxury nor experience.

I feel like multigenerational travel sometimes has to go this way, splitting up for a bit here and there for everyone to explore the corners of the world that intrigue them. And I feel like my parents’ separate adventures teach Josephine that time doesn’t extinguish wanderlust. She can travel for her entire life, and if she’s willing to exert a little effort, she can do so in style, on her terms.

Author: Jessica Givens.

Touring Rome

Our family highly recommends Rome in December/January. The weather is usually good (okay, it rained the entire time we were there last year), the crowds and prices are somewhat mitigated, and the city lights up its streets in festivity that the US doesn’t attempt to match. 

Most years, we take educational tours around Rome. We always use the same company, going through Cristina Giannicchi, who has incredible guides. Cristina’s guides meet you at your hotel or at the site you’re touring, and you usually walk or take taxis during the tours. Their prices are so reasonable for the quality. We’ve done the uber pricey guides. My recommendation: skip them. They’re pompous and only mildly knowledgeable. With Cristina, you get historians. I always ask for Mauro because he’s taken us on at least 8 tours, and I love his somewhat jaded yet respectful take on the monuments and their builders. If you want to hire Cristina and her group, email her at crisgiannicchi@gmail.com.

This year was unlike other years, however. We arrived on December 23 after taking a 6AM flight, so our eyes were too glazed to take in much culture. As in other years, we stayed in a giant room at the petite Lord Byron Hotel, which is about to get a desperately needed facelift. The Lord Byron is located in Parioli, where all the embassies are; it’s not super convenient, but the bang for the buck is huge, and the food in Parioli towers over the food in the rest of Rome. That’s really what keeps drawing us back. It wouldn’t make sense to stay elsewhere and take taxis to Parioli for every dinner, which is what we’d do.

Anyway, here we were, back at the Lord Byron, arriving the day before my birthday, and I felt like formal tours wouldn’t inspire in Josephine the love of Rome that I feel. I wanted to walk her around and show her the beautiful sites she’s already seen multiple times to whittle lasting memories into her brain. So, what we did was buy regular tickets to the Colosseum — no access to the floor, nothing fancy, just wandering. My stories of gladiators, naval battles, and emperors mesmerized her. I told her about the corrupt Nero, whose Domus Aurea (Golden House) once stood where the Colosseum is today, and pointed out where his massive statue likely stood. We talked about Vespasian, who tore all signs of Nero’s self-glorification to bits to erect the most famous amphitheater in the world. We talked about how the walls would have been white with marble, lined with statues, and far taller than they are today. From the upper levels, we peered down at the labyrinthine chambers and passageways, where gladiators, lions, Christians, bears, ostriches, and so forth awaited their turn in the ring. It was such a wonderful little mommy-delivered tour, and the new museum-like displays upstairs were extremely helpful in providing a didactic experience. I really wanted to take her to the Forum the next day, but things were sold out, and I decided instead to show her the various obelisks and columns that stand in piazzas throughout the centro. 

I’m no Mauro or Cristina, but I think she likes hearing the history from me. I sure love sharing my passion with her. 

Author: Jessica Givens.

Our Favorite Restaurants in Rome (and yes, we take a child)

We go somewhat off the beaten path to eat in Rome because we stay in a neighborhood, called Parioli, that’s not so popular with tourists. It’s very near the city center, but it’s not exactly in the mix. We really like it over there. It’s just a fifteen minute walk through the Villa Borghese, and we invariably pass by children playing on a playground or a puppet show. So it’s a fun walk. Plus, we’ve made that walk so many times, I don’t even know what we’d do if we stayed closer to the action. 

Parioli is amazing for restaurants because people actually live there. It’s where the embassies are. It’s where the Prime Minister’s residence is. People go out to eat well there. If you happen to venture to any of the following spots, I think you’ll be glad you did.

• Al Ceppo

Al Ceppo exudes an old guard vibe. Around the room, you’re likely to see businessmen pressing the flesh right next to families celebrating the holidays. It’s a well-heeled crowd, definitely not one down with ripped jeans or disheveled appearances. Some people might find the old-school wood paneling and the formality intimidating, but we love it. And the food is anything but stodgy. The soft egg with parmesan cream (pictured) is phenomenal and different, and the puntarelle salad is perfect. Puntarelle shines on Roman menus only in the winter, when the winter chicory blooms; the Puntarelle a la Romana salad consists of thinly sliced, slightly bitter chicory, laced with salty anchovies and pungent olive oil. I cannot recommend it enough. However, at Al Ceppo, Josephine’s vote is for the truffle pasta, smothered tableside in forest fresh, shaved black truffles. Everything on the menu is fantastic. It’s worth the cab ride.

• Ambasciata d’Abruzzo

This may be my favorite restaurant in Rome. It’s casual. It’s laid back. It’s open until midnight. I wouldn’t recommend it for New Year’s, which we tried to do in 2016-2017. It wasn’t great because the food there is really suited for sitting around with large portions in the center of the table, not in a prix fixe setting. But otherwise, it’s been amazing. 

At Ambasciata d’Abruzzo, you’ll be surrounded by locals of all ages. We see young people coming in at 10:30 for a meal; we see old people sipping Brunellos until all hours. Everyone enjoys it. 

What I would recommend the most are the pastas, particularly the Rigatoni alla Gricia (at least I think it’s rigatoni — the gricia sauce is basically good with anything). “Alla Gricia” is a traditional Roman preparation of guanciale (cured pork jowl), pecorino cheese, and black pepper. The sharp saltiness of the pecorino and the crunch of the guanciale make my toes curl. I love it that much. It’s actually good even when it’s bad because it’s so hard to go wrong. However, at Ambasciata d’Abruzzo, it’s at its finest. Josephine loves the Bucatini all’Amatriciana, super fat, long noodles, covered in tomatoes, guanciale, pecorino, and black pepper. It’s just a tomato-laden Gricia sauce. You’d also be missing out if you didn’t get the house-made mozzarella with prosciutto and the carciofi alla Romana (the most tender, delectable artichokes in the world). Jamil would also say to get the Maialino, which is suckling pig, served with crunchy pan potatoes. You really cannot go wrong.

What makes it even better is how reasonable the wine list is. You can get a delicious Ripasso di Valpolicella for probably $30. And I’m sure dessert is outstanding, but to tell the truth, I’ve never made it that far. My stomach taps out!

• Gallura

I’ve now spent two birthdays here, and I’ll probably do it again next year, given the opportunity. Gallura offers absurdly fresh seafood of every variety, from squid and baby octopus to sea urchins and all kinds of fish. When you walk in, there’s a wall of glass to your left, where you can watch the chefs in their spotless kitchen as they prepare the most gorgeous seafood dishes I’ve ever seen outside Japan.

As for the food, it’s really remarkable. The fritto misto of seafood is crisp, airy, and perfectly salty. As Americans accustomed to paltry shellfish offerings of shrimp, scallops, and oysters, with calamari and octopus as daring additions here and there, we gawk at the array of crunchy crustaceans Gallura serves up so unprepossessingly. The crudos bear not a hint of fishiness. The catch of the day shines in black truffles and porcini. We’ve ordered many other things on the menu, and they’ve all been excellent. Plus, the ambience is elegant, and the owner is always there, overseeing each dish. She’s attentive and exuberant. It’s just a good vibe.

I think it’s an ideal place to spend Christmas Eve because Italians are known for celebrating the Feast of the Seven Fishes that evening. No one really knows exactly what those seven fishes are supposed to represent — the number of sacraments, the seven days of creation, the seven virtues, the seven deadly sins and the seven days it took Mary and Joseph to reach Bethlehem before baby Jesus was born — maybe any number of those things. In any case, I love seafood, so I’m into a feast of fishes, especially at Gallura.

• Armando al Pantheon

The word is really out on this place. It’s so good and so centrally located – literally right next to the Pantheon – that it was destined to explode. Reservations book a month in advance, and I highly recommend that you get on that bandwagon because it is so consistent. I haven’t had too many dishes here because I generally order pasta. You cannot go wrong with Spaghetti alla Gricia or Cacio e Pepe. I will say the menu is somewhat organ-heavy, but remember, Rome was traditionally a very poor city. The people were poor. The food was poor. I just don’t go out of my way to eat lungs, so I won’t order that, but you totally can!

• Roscioli

We have only been to Roscioli once, but it was a giant hit. Josephine insisted on ordering the spicy sardine appetizer, and she devoured the entire plate. I’m not even sure I got to try it. However, we did get to share the rigatoni all’Amatriciana and the pan-cooked octopus, while Jamil enjoyed the carbonara pasta. Everything was perfect.

I also loved the setup of the restaurant. There’s an active deli at the front, where you can check out the meats, cheeses, and other cured items the restaurant serves. Then, the restaurant itself is narrow and a little tight, just what I’m looking for in Rome’s city center, somewhere bustling and vibrant, where I can hear Italian in the air.

All told, Roscioli is an excellent option in the city center. It’s popular, though, so make a reservation!

Author: Jessica Givens.