Travel

Paris Travel Journal

September 30, 2026September 30, 2026 Beth DeFries4 Comments

On our last morning in Paris, I popped into a little toy shop near the Luxembourg Gardens to pick out un petit cadeau to bring home to our niece. As I waited in line by the register, I stood behind a woman and her daughter. The daughter set her selection down on the counter, a little crocheted bear that was wearing a polished outfit.

“Ahhh,” said the shop manager to the mother with a fond smile, “She has eyes.”

The mother looked confused. I was confused too, all told. Was she talking about the bear? A strange comment, if so, as the bear’s eyes were just two stitched, curved lines that made it look like the creature was sleeping.

“She has eyes,” said the shop manager again, as though repetition alone would offer sufficient explanation. This time, her statement was met with deeper expressions of confusion from the mother and daughter.

“Anglais?” said the shop manager to them, then, “Non?”

The mother shook her head apologetically. The shop manager then turned to me as if I could be of help interpreting, for her own sake it seemed, above anyone’s.

“She has eyes?” she said to me, “Euh… euh… I don’t know how to say.”

I didn’t understand what she was trying to say either though. I did, however, understand that feeling of being misunderstood. I had been in her shoes, after all, for four days already, fumbling my way through little interactions and exchanges across Paris, only partially confident in my rusty French speaking and comprehension skills. I’d been met with my own share of equally puzzled expressions over the days there.

“Je suis désolée,” I said. I’m sorry.

The shop manager then rested a hand on the crocheted bear, looked at the little girl, and then to the girl’s mother, in one final attempt.

“She has eyes,” she said, “For… beautiful things.”

Ahhhh, I realized then. She has a good eye. She has good taste. I smiled and nodded, agreeing.

“Ah, oui,” I said, “Très bon.”

The shop manager seemed relieved that someone finally understood her meaning. I’m sure the little girl in the shop had an exquisite eye for beautiful things, though I think perhaps it helped that she was surrounded by the landscape of Paris. Paris is, after all, a city abundant with beautiful things. From its Haussmannian architecture to its manicured parks, to the winding Seine, mouthwatering cuisine, legendary art, impeccable style, and graceful inhabitants, you need only open your eyes within Paris’ city limits to spot something of notable beauty.

When my mother in law first told us that she had a dream of renting an apartment in Paris for one month, once she retired, and having us all come to visit, it seemed like nothing more than that. A dream. A year later, that dream turned into a reality.

Day 1: The Latin Quarter, The Arc de Triomphe, Dinner in Ternes.

As our Uber driver struggled to maneuver the narrow, winding streets of the Latin Quarter in Paris’ 5th arrondissment, we took in our first glimpses of the city from up close. The sandy walls of the Haussmannian apartment buildings and shops glowed golden, compressing the cobbled, heavily pedestrian-trafficked streets in between them. The driver dropped us off around the corner from the apartment where Mike’s parents were staying and Mike’s mom met us down on the ground floor.

She explained that the elevator was very small so only one person could go up with the bags. She was right. Mike and I would actually be staying in hotels for the duration of our trip, but it was too early in the day to check into our first hotel, located in a different part of the city. Still, we were looking forward to seeing the place where my in laws were, quite literally, living their dream. I took the stairs up with Mike’s mom while Mike sardined himself into the elevator with our carry-ons.

As we entered the apartment, daylight poured through the large, open window in the living room. The place was older, but not lacking in charm. It gave off a distinct sense of authentic Parisian living.

“So, you guys are like locals now?” I joked to my in laws as we cluttered their small hallway with our bags.

My mother in law took us through the adventures they’d already had during their first two and a half weeks in the city. Trips to The Louvre, dinner at the Eiffel Tower, all things Monet at Giverny, and the bohemian wanderings on the hill in Montmartre. She’d written a list down in a little lined notebook so as not to forget anything. They’d made a habit of picking up dinner from their local market and dining in- rotisserie chicken is big here, they said. They offered us brioche they’d made at a breadmaking class the day before, gone a little stale, but still good to us after hours of nothing but airplane meals. It all felt very relaxed, very Parisian in the sense of gathering and the enjoyment of everyday life, and making sure to reserve attention for sharing and savoring simple moments.

After catching up for a bit at the apartment, Mike and I headed out to check into our hotel and get some rest before we were set to rendezvous with everyone again later at the Arc de Triomphe. We hopped on the 21 bus and took in the streets of Paris along the journey up to Batignolles.

After some much needed rest after our red eye flight, we reluctantly roused ourselves from our nap to go meet up with everyone again. As we walked toward the Arc de Triomphe, we cut through Parc Monceau, an enchanting patch of nature within the 8th arrondissement with lush gardens, impressive statues, architectural structures, and excellent people-watching.

The 360 degree views from the observation terrace at the top of the Arc de Triomphe were worth the 284 step climb. You could even call them breathtaking, in more than one sense. It felt surreal to see the Eiffel Tower in person, the rooftops of Paris spread out all around us, adorned with clay chimneypots and TV antennas, just as I’d imagined.

Tree-lined avenues stretched outwards from the very circle atop which we were perched. We were confounded by the intuitive traffic etiquette that seemed to make sense to the Parisian drivers, though it was baffling to us. All I could keep thinking as we surveyed our surroundings was this is so cool, which is my lame American way of having eyes for beautiful things.

As golden hour approached, the crowds grew, waiting to catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower sparkling at the top of the hour for the first time that evening. I held fast to my spot to claim stake on my own view, surrounded by people speaking in all different languages, each voice animated with inflections of excitement and anticipation.

And then the magic began.

At eight o’clock sharp, the Eiffel Tower began to glitter all over with white sparkles as though covered in diamonds all catching the light at once. As if Paris wasn’t already enchanting enough.

Our next stop of the evening was dinner at a restaurant in Ternes called La Grange. We sat outside on the terrasse along the quiet street and immersed ourselves in the very Parisian practice of sharing a slow meal and good conversation as a group. I did my best to only speak French to the server and was surprised when she seemed to understand everything I said. I was even more surprised when I could understand everything she said to me as well. I found I really enjoyed using my French while in Paris, though granted, it is a bit rusty.

I ordered the salmon which was served with a lemon cream sauce and seasonal vegetables. The meal was simple, yet delicious. For dessert, I ordered the apple tart. As I broke off a piece of the tart with my fork, the flaky crust emitted a crispy crackle so satisfying that I have chosen to permanently commit the sound to memory for all the childish joy that it evoked for me in that moment.

We ended day one with a slow walk back to our hotel in Batignolles, Hôtel du Théâtre, a simple, yet comfortable spot where the keys were so ornate that the concierge staff asked guests to leave them with the front desk whenever going out. I fell asleep that night dreaming of the crispy crackle of cutting into my apple tart.

Day 2: Pont Alexandre III, Versailles, Montmartre

As we waited for Mike’s brother to meet us at the Invalides RER station to head to Versailles for the day, we took in some views of Pont Alexandre III, probably Paris’ most iconic bridge spanning the Seine, a beautiful piece of artistry amongst Paris’ incredible surrounding architecture.

Paris’ public transit is a breeze once you have a handle on it. Their bus and train system is one of the best I’ve used and I used to live in New York City. It only took us missing two RER trains to figure out the Bonjour RATP app in the station after the ticket machine decided it didn’t actually want to print the passes we had purchased. C’est la vie. We live and we learn and we get the show on the road.

The train ride to Versailles was easy (once we figured out the app, like I said) and the town of Versailles was picturesque and pleasant with a walkable downtown comprised of quaint shops and cafés. Before making our way to the grounds of the château and gardens, we were in the mood for some galettes. Carré aux Crêpes seemed to be a popular spot. We were seated inside and soon placed our orders. I opted for the tomate/champignons galette which had egg, tomatoes, mushrooms, and ham in a buckwheat crêpe, a satisfying and perfect way to begin the day, if you ask me.

The Palace of Versailles is an opulent marvel, both from without and within. Originally built under the instruction of King Louis XIII as a country hunting lodge, the palace was greatly expanded by his son, Louis XIV, who intended it as a new permanent residence for the French Court. It was meant to be extravagant and impressive and it is. The palace was also home to, perhaps its most famous, or infamous, residents, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.

As we followed the herd through the palace’s wings of apartments, I found myself disappointed in the lack of furniture. My brother in law agreed with me. The interior of the palace is more like a really fancy art gallery. The walls, papered and painted in materials like velvet and gold, housed many paintings of landscapes and people, but the rooms were sparsely furnished, some with no furniture at all. Only two rooms seemed to be fully furnished as they might have been while Versailles was inhabited, King Louis XIV’s bedchamber and Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette’s bedchamber.

This said, Versailles is a place where it seems imperative to purchase the audio guide. While that certainly would have helped in our understanding of the palace, it was the crowds that made me feel like I wanted to escape at the earliest possible moment. Shuffling through Louis XIV’s red bedchamber, crammed in among multiple tour groups, was giving me flashbacks to our visit to the Sistine Chapel. By this, I mean it was too crowded to actually be present and reflect on the wonder of the setting and enjoy it in the moment.

“So why do they call it the Hall of Mirrors?” said Mike’s brother as we entered the famous corridor. I laughed, appreciating his dry humor. Along the lefthand side of the corridor is a long line of mirrors that match up with the windows lining the righthand wall. The room is bright with daylight and allows far reaching views of the fountains and reflecting pool in the sprawling gardens behind the château.

Just a little further along was Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette’s bedchamber. The crowd was a little thinner here, the famed Hall of Mirrors still occupying a majority of the crowd’s attention, being the main draw for most visitors to the palace in the first place. I paused for a moment to admire Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun’s 1787 portrait of Marie Antoinette and her children, an empty bassinette prominent in the piece, representative of a mother’s grief after losing her youngest child in infancy. I couldn’t help but fixate my gaze on Marie Antoinette’s long, elegant neck and wonder if she had any notion of what was to come in the near future.

The gardens were a respite from the stifling palace walls. First, we took in the Orangerie with its intricate lawns, gravel paths, and orange trees in planter boxes. How strange, I thought.

We wandered further down the gardens, along the outskirts of the Latona Fountain, on a curved, pebbled path lined with quirky, sculpted hedges, our next destination still a long walk away, as its inhabitant most likely intended.

When I first set eyes on the whimsical, pastoral fantasy that was once Marie Antoinette’s Hamlet (Hameau de la Reine), I wished that we had skipped our visit to the main palace, altogether. This was more where my interests lay, I thought, this is why I am here.

Built as an escape from Versailles for France’s doomed queen, I got a sense for how out of touch Marie Antoinette must have been with the reality of her countrymen and women’s suffering preceding the horrific events of the French Revolution. Only a person with a head full of dreams and no sense of the depth of her pockets would have such a place built with public funds while the people in her kingdom were living in severe poverty, partially at the expense of her whims. Complete with a pastoral palace, working farm, mill, lighthouse, pond, and streams, walking the grounds of the Hameau felt like walking in a dream that was too good to be true, a nightmare in disguise, lurking unseen, just beyond the outer walls of the garden.

The gardens closed early the day of our visit so we followed the herd of people along the exterior streets, back to the center of town. The train back to Paris was packed and we stood on aching feet, tired and ready for rest and some dinner.

After getting off our feet for a bit at our hotel, Mike and I headed back out, Montmartre in our sights for the evening, the bohemian town on the hill. We grabbed some dinner at a café called Adélaïde, eating on the terrasse and taking in the views and people-watching in the area around Place des Abbesses. After our meal, we strolled over to get a glimpse of Le Sacré-Coeur, the imposing limestone basilica perched atop Montmartre hill. We were approaching the top of the hour and I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle again so we climbed one of Montmartre’s many staircases to get a better view and scoped out a spot on Rue Saint-Éleuthère for the show.

For our final stop of the evening, we sat down for a drink at Le Saint Jean for some cold beers and second hand smoke, allowing the end of the day to wind down at its own pace.

Day 3: Seeing the Sights

I wanted to see Montmartre in the daytime, so we headed back there with the intention of finding a cozy spot for brunch, a spot so cozy, in fact, that it’s in the name, Kozy. Well, turns out Kozy isn’t some well-kept secret. The line for the restaurant stretched around the square, so we decided to continue on with our exploration of the neighborhood and try to find a brunch place near our next stop, later in the morning. We climbed some more stairs, took in some street art, and some of the neighborhood’s iconic structures like La Maison Rose and Le Moulin Rouge before we decided that we’d had enough of the area’s crowds and climbs for one morning.

We walked to the bus and took it up to the Opera House, Palais Garnier. As our hunger increased, we wandered in search of a place for brunch. It was getting closer to mid-afternoon and the options we were finding weren’t quite satisfying what we were hoping for or were simply closed. In Paris, there is a noticeable structure to mealtimes. Outside of these traditional mealtimes, restaurants, bakeries, and cafés may close until the late afternoon, or sometimes won’t reopen until dinner. Breakfast is from about 7am until 11:30 or noon. Lunch is from noon till 2pm. Snack, or le goûter, is from 4pm and dinner is from 7:30pm. Outside of these mealtimes, our go-to was to go into a local market and get some fruit and nuts or pop into a touristy bakery for a decent, though perhaps not Paris’ finest, pastry. As we wandered around the 9th and 2nd arrondissements, this is just what we did.

Fueled with a tarte au framboises (raspberry tart) from a chain bakery and some cashews and bananas, we explored one of Paris’ covered passages in a better mood than before. Passages des Panoramas is a covered alley lined with cafés and tiny shops selling antiques, artisan goods, postage stamps, and vintage postcards. It was a quirky escape from the neighborhood’s wide, bustling streets, and I enjoyed leafing through the boxes of postcards.

Next, we wandered back to the 9th to Galeries Lafayette Haussmann, a shopping mall known for its expensive wares and its impressive architectural elements such as the web-like glass-paned dome ceiling with balconies overlooking the open interior of the building, like opera boxes. There is a glass walkway that you can walk out on if you choose to, but we decided to skip this “opportunity” and instead, went up to the rooftop terrace to take in what I’d read was an incredible view of the city.

The rooftop terrace of Galeries Lafayette was my favorite view of Paris after that from the Arc de Triomphe. One difference between the two is that the view from the Arc de Triomphe will run you about 22 euro a piece, while Galeries Lafayette’s view is free to take in. From the rooftop, you will catch an amazing view of the beautiful Palais Garnier as well as the Eiffel Tower, in the distance. Despite the clouds, the day was only getting better.

Still craving a leisurely café experience, we headed back up to Batignolles and sat down at a café that we had walked by a couple of times, Le Dôme Villiers. We ordered some drinks and a meat and cheese board to share. It takes a while to be served in Paris, but that’s just a suggestion to enjoy the experience even more, take in your surroundings, the architecture, the people, and simply partake in the enjoyment of living.

When our food arrived, we sampled everything. My favorites were surprising to me. Rillettes- a pork fat spread, gooey, melty Camembert, and a flavorful Roquefort with a suspiciously fuzzy patch of greenish gray mold. Yum! Yes? No?

We returned to Hôtel du Théâtre to collect our bags and check into our next hotel, Hôtel Elysa, near the Luxembourg Gardens. Following Hôtel du Théâtre’s simple, yet comfortable functionality, Hôtel Elysa seemed luxurious. Being just around the corner from what I would soon find was one of my favorite spots in Paris already seemed like a bonus, plus, we were much closer to my in laws’ apartment and my sister in law had just arrived in town, earlier that morning.

Mike’s family met us outside our hotel and we took the bus up to Notre Dame together. I valued the opportunity to see this beautiful, iconic cathedral without its being shrouded by scaffolding as it had been for almost five years, following a devastating fire in April 2019.

The restoration work on the cathedral was truly amazing and I spent a little while trying to take in the details, the sculpture work, the intricately carved archways and the melodic toll of the bells as they echoed, commanding attention from all in the square. As we hung around before our dinner reservation at Chez Suzette, golden hour struck and bathed the cathedral in golden light.

We walked back along the Seine in the direction of dinner, capturing views of the bend in the river and one of the city’s many unique bridges.

After dinner at Chez Suzette, Mike, his sister, and I took the bus over to the Eiffel Tower Gardens to see the old gal glow and sparkle up close. As we waited, we watched the elevators traveling up and down the sculpturesque structure, each of us saying that we much preferred our view from the ground to the idea of being inside one of those elevators.

Day 4: The Luxembourg Gardens, Le Louvre, Le Marais, Le Calife

To start our day off right on our fourth day in Paris, we planned to pick up some breakfast treats from a boulangerie to eat in Luxembourg Gardens. Boulangerie Moderne was a short walk from our hotel and gave us our first taste of authentic bakery culture in Paris. You may think it ridiculous, but what I found most stressful about our trip to Paris was deciding what to order from the bakery.

There is no taking time to think of what you want to order from the offerings in the bakery cases in an authentic boulangerie. If you want to think it over, it’s probably best to excuse yourself in to take a picture of the options and then study them out of line before getting back in line to actually place your order and pay. It’s also best to use French in this setting as well, which I feel like helped us out a little, at least.

We floundered for about thirty seconds, to the irritation of the bakery staff and the man behind us. Thirty seconds is about twenty-nine seconds too long in the bakery line. Nous sommes désolés, bakery patrons of Boulangerie Moderne! Still, we walked out with our bounty of a croissant, a tarte framboise, and a brioche au chocolat.

The croissant was the best I’ve ever had. There is no debate. Crispy, flaky, buttery. A total mess, but a delicious one that I’m sure the pigeons in Luxembourg Gardens were grateful for.

The tarte framboise had a buttery, crumbly crust and a smooth, thick custard to balance out the light, tart, sweetness of the raspberries. An absolute delight.

The brioche was a little outshone by the other two, to be honest, though still wonderful in its own right, doughy and swirled with a chocolate paste and little chunks of chocolate.

We ate near the fountain and took a stroll around the park’s gravel paths. We soon learned that the gardens are home to a series of twenty statues of queens of France and famous French women. According to further research, the sculptures were commissioned by King Louis-Philippe I between 1843 and 1846. I really enjoyed stopping to highly regard these powerful women on their pedestals and wondering what life was like for them in their own times.

The gardens were a peaceful and colorful oasis within the busy 6th arrondissement. From the flowerbeds to the manicured trees to the girl power statues, I was a pretty happy tourist.

Mike and I took a little stroll through the pretty streets of Saint Germain des Prés after our visit to the gardens.

Next, it was across the Seine and to Le Louvre.

I was amazed when I saw just how massive The Louvre is. I had seen it in pictures and movies and textbook-associated videos in French class in high school. I had read about it in Dan Brown’s thrilling novels. But my goodness gracious me, to see it in person for the total behemoth of a fortress that it is, my jaw was on the cobblestones.

About three times the size of the Palace of Versailles and taking up approximately twenty percent of the 1st arrondissement, this former palace and fortress not only houses marvelous works of art, but is an absolute marvel itself. I wandered the portion of the courtyard nearest the main entrance, the one with the three pyramids, the one that I thought was the entire courtyard, but is actually only about a third of it.

The architecture and sculpture work of The Louvre are a definite must-see, in my opinion, even if you do not have plans to go inside. Personally, I didn’t go in and see The Mona Lisa or Winged Victory, but is it terrible to say that the way tourists are expected to experience these famed works of art could not have held a candle to my experience of exploring the artwork that is the building’s exterior in my own time, at my own pace, and with my own space. Ahhh. Just magnificent, really.

We headed over to the Hôtel de Ville (City Hall) next and then met up with Mike’s sister in Place des Voges to do a little exploring in Le Marais and get a drink at a café. The parts of Le Marais that we saw were mostly shopping areas with high end stores with familiar names and unattainable wares, for us at least, so if you are taking a trip to Paris, I suggest starting your adventure in Le Marais in the northern part of the neighborhood, rather than the southern part, if you’re not into that sort of thing.

With aching feet and tired legs, we slowly made our way back to our hotel for some much needed time off our feet before our next, more leisurely activity.

Le Calife is a floating historic monument on which dinner cruises are offered for tourists who wish to experience the Seine and its adjacent landmarks in a setting emulating the lavish, art deco style of the Orient Express. From the moment we met up with Mike’s family and boarded the vessel, we were transported to a 1920s style setting with stained glass lampshades, paneled wooden walls, and pristine white tablecloths. We were offered welcome cocktails and non-alcoholic alternatives and perused our three-course menu options.

I ordered a glass of rosé, pumpkin squash soup, duck confit with mashed potatoes and seasonal vegetables in a morel sauce, and a chocolate lava cake for dessert. Everything was absolutely delicious.

The whole experience was touristy, of course, but magical all the same, and offered an excellent vantage point for spectacular views of some of the city’s best known sights and landmarks such as Le Louvre, La Conciergerie, Notre Dame, The Eiffel Tower, The Statue of Liberty, Musée D’Orsay, Pont Alexandre III and many other beautiful bridges of Paris. We even saw ballroom dancers along the banks of the river at Quai Saint-Bernard, adding to the magic of the evening.

After disembarking from our journey on Le Calife, we said goodbye to Mike’s family, as we were heading to the airport the next morning. Mike’s mom was in disbelief that her month in Paris had only eight days remaining. All good things…

Before heading back to our hotel, there was one last place we were hoping to see. We walked from the banks of the Seine to Église Saint-Étienne-du-Mont in search of some cinematic steps. We’ve been fans of the film Midnight in Paris since before… well, you know. It was around 11:30pm and I wanted to live some movie magic, if only in my imagination.

We took turns sitting on the steps where Owen Wilson’s character, Gil Pender, waits for the Peugeot to come and bring him to the past, the likes of Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, and T.S. Eliot already onboard to accompany him for the whirlwind ride. If only movie magic could be real. But, hey, there’s no harm in dreaming, is there?

With our last stop complete, we made our farewells to the City of Light at its best time, in the glow of the streetlamps, along the cobbled streets, the sounds of sirens in the distance, the café managers turning out lights and closing up shop before taking a much craved draw on a late night cigarette. The city was saying its own good night to us.

“Vous parlez français!” said the shop manager of the toy shop near the Luxembourg Gardens. You speak French!

I was already past the time Mike and I agreed we’d leave for the airport, but this was my last interaction in the city and my last opportunity to use my language skills for what might be a long time.

“Oui, un peu, mais, je ne suis pas très bon.” Yes, a little, but I’m not very good.

She laughed.

I explained in French that I had taken the language for ten years in school.

“How are you finding using it?” she said in English.

“It’s difficult to understand when I have to listen,” I said in French.

“Moi aussi, me too,” she replied, “For English. Tout le monde parlent vite, vite, vite.”

Everyone speaks fast, fast, fast.

“Exactement,” I said. Exactly.

She wrapped up the gift for my niece and decorated it with colorful ribbon, literally putting a little bow on the last moment of my Paris adventure.

“Merci beaucoup,” I said, “Bonne journée.”

Thank you very much! Have a good day.

“Bon voyage!” she replied.

Until next time, I thought. And until that next time comes, I will remember Paris well and think of it often, in the savoring of simple moments and everyday joys of living, in the practice of having eyes for beautiful things.

Travel

Québec City in the Snow

December 30, 2025 Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

On our previous visit to Québec City, in the summer of 2022, I remember walking with Mike along the boardwalk of Terrasse Dufferin one night, looking in the windows of one of the restaurants inside Fairmont Le Château Frontenac thinking maybe next time. I remembered the ornate and sprawling castle-like structure that had served as a north star by which we could navigate the city while exploring, a guiding beacon perched high above the old town and the St. Lawrence River, a constant reminder of where we were and just how magical of a place it was.

This December, when our taxi turned onto Rue des Carrières, the reality of where we’d be spending the next few nights finally started to sink in and I could feel a little smile lifting my cheeks automatically. Fairmont Le Château Frontenac towered above and all around us with its collection of towers, gables, dormers, and turrets. We hurried across the snow and slush-coated road to reach the covered, revolving doors that would lead us out of the biting winter chill and into the hotel’s inviting lobby.

Fairmont Le Château Frontenac

An identifying symbol not only of the Québec province, but of Canada itself, Le Château Frontenac had been the backdrop to so many of our pictures from our previous trip to Québec City. Throughout its history, the hotel has played host to the likes of royalty such as Queen Elizabeth II and Princess Grace of Monaco, world leaders such as Winston Churchill, Theodore Roosevelt, and Dwight Eisenhower, celebrities such as Alfred Hitchcock and Céline Dion, as well as many a visiting dignitary. This time, it would play host to us- just a couple of explorers from New Jersey.

As a little girl, I wasn’t above dreaming of becoming a princess one day, despite my overall lack of grace, responsibility, and fashion sense at the time, but let’s just say that walking into the lobby of Le Château Frontenac felt about as close to a real deal princess experience as a regular girl from New Jersey could hope to stumble upon.

We checked in with the help of the welcoming hotel staff and afterwards, waited by the gilded elevator doors to head up to our room on the 10th floor. Our room was pleasantly appointed and more than decent in size, with a lovely view of the hotel’s westerly towers. There was a gift of chocolates, a bottle of Acqua Panna, and a little card on the desk to welcome us, upon our arrival. We felt grateful for the deal that we had gotten through our credit card that allowed this magical experience to become a reality. All the princess dust around me just kept on sparkling, mes amis, even if only I could sense it.

With a little time before our dinner reservation for the evening, we decided to bundle up to brave the below freezing temperatures for a stroll along the snow-covered Terrasse Dufferin. Stuffed in our layers and our snow boots, we wandered back outside. The packed-down snow on Terrasse Dufferin glimmered in the warm glow from the hotel’s up-lighting and the triple globe lamp posts that lined the promenade. We walked to the Au 1884 toboggan slides to get a glimpse of what our future had in store for us on this trip and turned back around to be greeted by a beautiful view of the hotel all lit up and a Terrasse Dufferin covered in snow, all to ourselves.

Terrasse Dufferin and Le Château Frontenac

La Buchette

It was difficult to narrow down restaurant options from this city’s plethora of enticing culinary offerings. In the end, for our first night, we opted for a dinner spot just a few minutes walk from our hotel called La Buchette. The restaurant exuded an elevated rustic ambiance, influenced by traditional Québecoise cabanes à sucre, or sugar-shacks. The decor featured a ceiling made of natural wood, chandeliers comprised of antlers and warmly-lit flame bulbs, steerable wooden sleds, buffalo check table cloths, and the side of a classic car mounted on the wall, because why not? We enjoyed some drinks as we waited for our dinner, happily taking in the cozy, quirky surrounds, a welcome respite from the cold.

At the end of our delicious meal, we ordered La Buchette’s signature dessert, a cake designed to emulate McCain’s Deep’n Delicious Cake, a Canadian past-time that, according to our server, inspires a sense of nostalgia and childhood for many Canadians. The restaurant makes “Le Bûcheron” from scratch and even serves the cakes in specialty packaging that they designed in order to best pay homage to the original inspiration source and to evoke the nostalgic experience for customers of eating the cake straight out of the packaging, just as they might have eaten the McCain cakes at home in their youth.

Old Québec

Descending from Terrasse Dufferin to the winding streets of Vieux Québec on foot took a little skill in balance. The path down had us navigating winding staircases, sloped walkways, and Québec’s steep staircase, L’Escalier Casse-Cou, the Breakneck Stairs, many of which were covered in layers of ice and snow. The journey on foot was worth it, however, as we gazed down upon the glowing streets of the old town from the top of the Breakneck Stairs. For those looking to minimize treachery on their vacation, there is also the Funiculaire du Vieux-Québec, a small tram that travels the steep slope between the upper and lower towns via rail for a small fee.

We wandered through the snow-covered streets, past old, stone buildings, their windows adorned with piled evergreen boughs and glimmering ornaments here and there. Snow-flecked Christmas trees twinkled outside closed storefronts and residences, mesmerizing and magical with their lights. We turned a corner and caught our first glimpse of the beautiful Christmas trees in Place Royale, the spot where Samuel de Champlain is said to have founded the city in 1608. The square is surrounded by stone buildings and presided over by the picturesque Notre-Dame-des-Victoires Church. In the cold and the muffled crunch of snow beneath our boots, there was quiet and calm.

Pub L’Oncle Antoine

We popped into this cozy little haven of a pub looking for a pint. Inside, a fire roared hot and bright in the stone hearth and animated conversations in English and French filled the arched, stone space. We shed our fleeces, our down coats, our hats, and our gloves. As we sipped locally brewed beers, we talked about Québec in the snow versus Québec in the summertime as well as of our other trips from this past year of adventure.

Breakfast at Le Château Frontenac’s Place Dufferin

I think I will spend the rest of my life dreaming about the crêpes with butterscotch sauce that I indulged in each morning at the Place Dufferin breakfast buffet, a service included with our stay. I am not sure if this is a service included for all guests of Le Château Frontenac or if it was simply part of the package that we got through our credit card, but I will admit that it only added to my sense of princess-y-ness and I may never be quite the same again. Please accept my apologies for this and direct any annoyance towards the crêpes, themselves.

All I thought I’d eat before Mike let me try his crêpes…

Breakfast was delicious each morning and it’s very possible that we both came home a little heavier than we would have liked to be, but somethings in life are worth bending the rules for and when there are croissants and those magical dream crêpes on the table, there’s no telling what a not-princess might do.

The Place Dufferin restaurant overlooked Tarrasse Dufferin and happened to be the restaurant that we had seen through the windows of on our first trip, back in 2022. I enjoyed sipping my tea and savoring my magical crêpes while watching the passerby, all bundled up in their winter layers, as they drifted in and out of our view. I wondered if any of them were thinking, maybe next time.

Ice Skating in Place D’Youville

Mike and I took up ice skating as a hobby last winter. It was an activity we had enjoyed while living in New York and we invested in some new skates last year to marginally improve our limited skills in more comfort. I missed my Jackson Ultima Mystiques as soon as I slipped my feet into the rental skates at the Place D’Youville’s skate shop, but the rentals would simply have to do.

As we skated around the rink, snow drifted down in heavy, wet flakes and collected upon the surface of the ice. A Christmas playlist serenaded us through the rink’s speakers, projecting familiar melodies, the songs alternating between English and French. The backdrop of the old city wall and the closed stalls of the Christmas Market in the park enhanced the cozy, festive ambiance.

Q-de-Sac Resto Pub

Inside, Q-de-Sac Resto Pub looked nothing like it had on our last visit. The place had been a bit modernized and no longer had the same cozy decor and ambiance that I had remembered and been expecting prior to walking in. That’s on me, so no fault to them, of course. We shared an onion soup and a stracciatella pizza, both of which were delicious and the service was friendly and fast. Afterwards, we headed back to Pub L’Oncle Antoine again to satisfy my craving for ultra-cozy surrounds.

Terrasse Dufferin & Au 1884 Toboggans

The next morning, we caught some of the sunrise from Terrasse Dufferin. The ice floes in the river were plentiful and the ferries would have to carve their way through them later in the day. The Château beamed in the morning light and my stomach was already rumbling for breakfast and from nerves at the sight of the toboggan track that stretched out along the terrace.

As we waited to ride the Au 1884 toboggans later that day, our layers kept us comfortably warm. The only uncomfortable part about the waiting was the knowing that we would actually be following through on this activity, ourselves, in just a short while. We’d scoped out the toboggan run the previous night and decided that we would ride it as it seemed like too unique a Québec winter experience to pass up on. It was fun to watch the people as they glided to a stop on their sleds at the end of the track. It was obvious that the more people per sled, the faster the ride. We saw two sleds, each packed with four adult men, zoom by faster than any of the others had. Mike and I looked at each other and decided that, yes, we definitely should have eaten more at breakfast in order to make the ride even faster when our turn came. Eep!

My nerves kicked into high gear the moment I nestled into the toboggan at the top of the sled run. As instructed by the Au 1884 staff, my boots were wedged into the front curve of the sled, my knees splayed out to the sides like a frog’s- but, very graceful and princess-like; I know🙃. Mike sat behind me and held onto me tight, his boots balanced on top of my knees, as instructed. There may have been many an “Eep!” uttered at this point as I looked down from the top of the track.

“Vous êtes tous prêts?” said the staff member at the top of the toboggan run, “Are you all ready?”

“Eep!“

“Un. Deux. Trois! Have fuuuun!“

And just like that we were off, sliding down our lane much faster than it had appeared from our earlier recon mission. It was scary and fast and lasted longer than I expected it to, but it was also a thrill and tons of fun!

Marché de Noël Allemand de Québec

Québec’s German Christmas Market is comprised of five market locations that are freckled about the upper town. The market stalls are typically open Thursday through Sunday during the holiday season and are a fun and festive way to explore the offerings of locally made artisan products and foods. We were in the market for some hot chocolate, a warm pretzel, and some gingerbread and along the way picked up some other little samplings of potato and vegetable stew, mulled wine, churros, and macarons. This was such an enjoyable way to grab lunch at Christmastime in this city and despite the crowds and the touristy areas, this did not seem like an attraction that was exclusively targeted toward tourists. We heard mainly French as we walked around the markets and interacting with the people running the stalls was a fun way to put some of my own French to use. C’était très amusant pour moi!

1608 Bar

With a late dinner reservation at a nearby restaurant and a credit to use at our hotel that was part of our reservation package, we decided to pay a visit to Le Château Frontenac’s 1608 Bar. We checked in with the host and waited to be seated at the bar, a spectacle of a tower set inside a circular bar within library-like environs. I ordered a Jameson Old Fashioned and Mike ordered something called 1943, a scotch-based cocktail similar to an Old Fashioned, but with hints of smoked cinnamon and cinnamon-anise. Yum!

Bello Ristorante

For our final dinner of our trip, we decided on Bello Ristorante. We were seated at the bar with complimentary prosecco, as our table was not yet ready, and we were happy to remain there and let the host know we would. As with all of our other culinary experiences in this magical city, Bello did not fail to impress. I ordered some red wine and we shared a Caesar salad. I opted for the half portion of Linguini al Pesto for my meal and was so content there eating my pasta in the glow of the warm, pizza oven, sipping my wine, and talking to Mike that I forgot to take any pictures. You’ll just have to try it for yourselves someday, I guess! 🙂

Final thoughts

Mike and I decided pretty early on into this trip that it was our favorite destination out of all of our trips this year. Maybe I’ll do a post with my ranking of all the places we visited this year. Maybe not. That remains to be determined. Still, if you are looking for the ultimate Christmas-y destination for your future winter travels, I can’t recommend Québec City enough. From the snow to the lights to the peaceful streets of the old town after dark to the flavors and cozy environs all around, we were enchanted the entire time.

A note on dressing for Canada in winter:

Leading up to our trip, I watched many a YouTube video trying to figure out how to pack for Québec City in winter and came across a very useful video from a channel called Must Do Canada that really helped to determine our travel wardrobe for this trip. As Matt and Karla explain in their video, the key to enjoying Canada in winter is to be prepared with the appropriate layers for all of the activities that you plan to do.

At the very least, you’ll want to make sure you have a set of base thermals that are lightweight and close-fitting, a breathable, moisture-wicking mid layer, a proper winter coat, and waterproof snow boots. As we live in a climate that reaches below freezing temperatures in the winter, we knew we would use any pieces that we invested in beyond this trip, so we did some research and bought some pieces that we were very glad to have when it came time to walking around in the cold for hours at a time in Québec. If you do not live in a climate that reaches below freezing temperatures and do not want to purchase special gear, there are also services available in the city where you can rent winter gear and have it delivered to your hotel so it is ready for you when you arrive.

Polyester, wool, and down or down-alternative products are great materials for keeping you warm and dry in cold, snowy conditions. Pair these with accessories like a wool hat, waterproof gloves or mittens, and wool socks, and you’ll be comfortable despite harsh winter conditions.

Happy New Year!

Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this post as well as my other posts from this year! I wish you all a very Happy New Year full of health, joy, fulfillment, and peace. Always remember, it is enough to be you without bells and whistles. Success appears in different ways to different people and I think that was a big learn for me this year. Be good, be kind, be happy if you can and know that you deserve that whether you accomplished your 2025 goals or not! Sending love and positivity your way as we close out this holiday season! Thanks again, all!💖

Ireland Travel Journal

December 2, 2025 Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

It’s December, friends. Can you believe it? The last month of our exhilarating year of adventure is here before I’m ready for it. There’s frost on the leaves on the steps outside and festive lights twinkle throughout our little corner of the world. Our November trip has come and gone, our farthest reaching destination this year, and we’re eleven down, one to go. It’s all gone by so fast. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The reminiscing on it all will come later this month or perhaps early next year. For now, there are green hills, rugged mountains, valley vistas, coastal cliff views, and pints of black stuff to discuss.

Howth

We landed at Dublin airport having each managed about two hours of sleep on our six hour red eye from Newark. We breezed through immigration and were soon off to pick up our little rental car to hit the Irish roads. The first destination in our sights was the seaside village of Howth, just outside of Dublin city. Mike was quick to reacquaint himself with the right side of the car/left side of the road situation and we were navigating our first of many roundabouts and tight left-turns in no time.

The colorful fishing village of Howth, nestled along the coast of the Irish Sea, is an idyllic, manageable daytrip from bustling Dublin city. Accessible by car or a short train ride from Dublin via DART service, this makes for a great destination for those traveling to the Dublin area with limited time who would like to get a broader sense of what this beautiful country has to offer outside the limits of its largest city. For us, Howth was reminiscent of some of the towns we have visited in the west of Ireland without the 2.5+ hour drive to get there from Dublin.

With limited daylight (and sleep), we set our sights on doing some of the Howth Cliff Path Loop to take in the stunning views of the sea and the cliffs along the coastline. On a sunny, Saturday afternoon, it was easy to follow the like-minded crowd of scenery-seekers to the start of the trail and after a bit of a climb, we were perched upon the side of the cliffs on a dirt trail that wound past the gorse, the heather, and the green high above the crashing waves.

About forty-five minutes into our hike, we decided to turn around, wanting to have time for a quick lunch before hitting the road to our next stop, in hopes we could reach it before dark. Racing the daylight was certainly a challenge on this trip versus our previous summertime trips to Ireland. We ordered some takeaway fish and chips from Beshoff Bros to share and enjoyed them as the clouds began to roll in over the harbor.

Kilkenny

Our drive from Howth to Kilkenny felt long and arduous as we raced our waning energy, though in actuality it took less than two hours from Howth harbor to the door of our hotel.

Driving through the Kilkenny town center was a welcome reprieve for our heavy eyelids and we wound our way through the town to our lodging for the next two nights, Pembroke Hotel Kilkenny. We checked in and parked in the designated lot a few blocks away then took in the view of Kilkenny Castle and the Kilkenny Arts building from our room’s large window for the briefest of moments before settling in for a must-needed, strategic nap to try to “get on Ireland time”. The grogginess we felt after our ninety minute nap was a familiar sensation that we have experienced on every one of our Ireland trips. It’s just a necessary evil, we have learned, to help make the most of a short vacation. We begrudgingly willed ourselves to get out of bed and head out for a bite to eat and a pint.

Sullivan’s Taproom fit the bill for what I was feeling to escape the damp chill of November in Ireland. Inside, the taproom was warm and decorated for Christmas. Every table inside, but one, was taken so we claimed that last as ours, shrugged out of our jackets, and settled in. The place was packed with fans who were zoned in on a rugby match between Ireland and South Africa. We sat on the outskirts of it all near the kitchen pass-through and perused the menu. We ordered a margherita pizza to share and I opted for a red ale on rotation, while Mike went for a pale ale. The atmosphere was festive and excited and it was a great way to wake up a bit from our jet-lagged stupor.

Our next stop for the night was The Dylan Whiskey Bar for some after-dinner cocktails. The place was pretty empty when we arrived on that Saturday evening, but filled out over the couple of hours that we spent there. I ordered a Jameson Triple-Triple old fashioned to start, followed by my first true pint of the trip and the memories flooded back of how Guinness just tastes better in Ireland. We decided it’s both a texture thing and a color thing. The foam is creamier and smoother than back home and when the light hits it just right, rubies glimmer at the bottom of the glass.

Cahir

We checked the forecast Sunday morning before heading to our first stop for the day, a medieval town about an hour west of Kilkenny called Cahir. Discouraged by the rain that had accompanied much of our drive, despite one rainbow sighting, we pulled into the public lot next to Cahir Castle and checked the forecast again to see if the rain would stop soon. According to Google Weather, it wasn’t supposed to rain in Kilkenny all day (but it had already rained on us that morning), it wasn’t supposed to rain in Cashel (though it would be raining when we got there later), and it was certainly raining in Cahir. We changed into our waterproof hiking boots, zipped up our waterproof jackets, and grabbed our umbrellas because in Ireland, there is no bad weather, only bad clothes.

Cahir Castle did not offer the shelter from the rain and chill that I, for no logic-based reason, imagined it would. Still, umbrellas up, we wandered the walled, green grounds and stone courtyards and ducked into the medieval banquet hall which was heated to 7°C (44.7°F). We climbed stairways that wound up to sparse, wooden floors with whitewashed stone walls and skimmed information boards on the Easter Rising and the history of Medieval women’s dress and customs, stealing long glances through the deep, paned windows at the colorful street outside.

We did a short exploration of the town on foot due to the wet conditions before driving through the streets and on to our next stop, Cashel, in hopes of escaping the rain.

Cashel

“It’s not raining in Cashel,” I said, remembering the lack of raindrops forecast on Google Weather for this next little medieval town of the day.

“It’s not raining in Cashel,” echoed Mike.

But, of course, it was.

We climbed from the parking lot up the hill to the Rock of Cashel historic site, our umbrellas tested by strong winds and rain. We purchased our tickets and hurried inside the impressive cathedral ruins to escape the wind, though it was quite the wind tunnel inside anyway. There were people huddled close to the stone walls, trying to evade the wind’s reach as they waited for their tour to begin. I couldn’t help but laugh as I heard a teenaged, American boy voice his opinion.

“Why are we DOING this?!” he shouted against the wind.

Rock of Cashel, 13th Century Cathedral Ruins

Valid question, I thought, ready to leave as well. We hastily wandered the ruins, pausing at the gravesites only briefly and taking in as much of the sprawling view of the countryside from the top of the hill as we could in only a few moments. It would have been a beautiful spot to linger and really take in the view of the rolling hills and farms on a warm, sunny day, but a warm, sunny day, it was not, my friends. It was November in Ireland.

Mike proposed we find somewhere to get out of the cold for a while and we settled on a place for lunch on the recommendation of a barkeep who informed us the kitchen was closed at our first choice restaurant. The barkeep guided us to Bailey’s Hotel Cellar Bar & Restaurant and it ended up being a very welcome, cozy suggestion.

As we enjoyed pints of Smithwick’s and waited for our lunch to arrive, we scrolled through my pictures from our visit to the Rock of Cashel. Mike said, “Funny. No one would look at these and think there was actually a hurricane up there.”

Kilkenny (cont’d)

We reached Kilkenny again before dark and took some time to warm up, rest, and take in the view of Kilkenny Castle from our room before heading back out to dinner. We decided on Matt The Millers Bar & Restaurant for some traditional Irish fare and music. I ordered Guinness beef stew with brown bread and Mike opted for the seafood chowder with brown bread and both were excellent, hearty, and blissfully warm. We sipped our pints of Guinness and listened as the live performers sang familiar songs like Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl and The Cranberries’ Zombie amongst a wider selection of more traditional Irish songs. We ended our evening back at The Dylan Whiskey Bar, much quieter on a cold Sunday night than on the previous night. Still, the whiskey was warm and smooth and the surrounds cozy and pleasant. This spot was worth two visits.

Kilkenny Castle & Kilkenny Arts building, earlier that morning

The Wicklow Mountains

In researching for this trip, one place in particular kept coming up as a suggestion for places to visit near Dublin. Glendalough. (Pronounced Glenda-luck) In all my planning for Glendalough though between what trail to hike, where to park, and where to get lunch afterwards, there was one thing I hadn’t planned on for our visit and that was me behind the wheel of our little rental car from Kilkenny to the Upper Lake parking lot.

This was my first time driving on the “wrong” side of the car and the “wrong” side of the road and boy oh boy did it feel a little harrowing at times. Irish country roads are teeny tiny- think a one lane road in the US or better yet, two bike lanes smushed together and hey presto! you have yourself an Irish country road.

I’ve learned that driving in Ireland, sometimes you just have to throw your side-view mirror into the bushes or chance the solidity of the “soft shoulder” (just grass and mud), if you’re so lucky to have a shoulder available at all, that is. Irish drivers have a level of confidence or recklessness that I can only aspire to. I wasn’t as sheepish as the painted, white, fluffballs grazing in the pastures and hills along the sides of our route, but let’s just say I was happy to arrive at the Glendalough car park only having run over one curb with my front left tire.

We changed into our hiking boots and hit the trail, opting for The Spinc Walk Blue Route as an out an back to the summit viewpoint rather than as a loop. The trail guided us past the Lower Lake and through a pretty wood of evergreens. This wasn’t the Ireland we had seen before on our previous trips. This was wild and towering and rugged. We loved it. We followed the path up the mountain and out of the trees, through heather and grass and dirt and mud, soaking nature into the soles of our boots to mingle there with that from our previous adventures this year.

After not too long, we were rewarded with views of the Upper Lake and the vista looking further below and beyond past the valley. This place was a beauty, a highlight that made me question why people say to see the true Ireland you need to go to the west. I agree you should definitely go to the west if you’ve only time for one trip to Ireland in your lifetime, but I am going to throw the suggestion out there to make this place a priority as well.

For lunch, we went to a beautiful, cozy restaurant in the village of Laragh called Wicklow Heather Restaurant. The whole place was twinkling with the soft white glow of fairy lights. There was antique, copper crockery suspended from beams and hooks in the ceiling. Vintage portraits and artwork climbed the walls and looked down upon it all from the wooden eaves, and gothic paned windows looked out on the road. Mike ordered a Guinness and an open faced slow roasted ham and smoked applewood cheese sandwich while I went for potato, cauliflower, and coconut curry and a cup of tea.

We made our way towards Dublin after our meal, racing the daylight once again as we marveled at the breathtaking, wild scenery that surrounded us on our drive through the mountain pass called Sally Gap. If you are visiting Ireland as a tourist, I recommend doing this drive with a tour company rather than driving it yourself, as the road through the mountains is very isolated and cell phone service is minimal. We made a stop at Lough Tay, also known as Guinness Lake before heading back towards Dublin, both of us a little anxious for views of civilization.

Dublin

Inching along the narrow, Dublin city streets that evening was enough driving in Dublin for us, at least until we needed to head to the airport a couple days later, and once we parked our car in the garage around the corner from our hotel, we decided we’d try out the DART service if we planned to go outside the city the next day. Our check-in at the Drury Court Hotel was warm and welcoming. The people working at the front desk were friendly and efficient. They asked had we been to Dublin previously and what our plans were for our time in the city.

“Yes!” we said with the smiles that accompany the memories of previous vacations to Ireland, “I think we’ll try The Winding Stair for dinner and maybe head to Dalkey tomorrow.”

“That’s lovely,” said the front desk agent with a smile.

The agent reminded us that European hotels do not customarily have top sheets or washcloths, but that there was a shelf stocked with washcloths in the lobby, if needed. Our experience with the Drury Court Hotel was very pleasant and helpful and the location was central to lots of sights, pubs, and attractions. I would recommend this hotel to friends or family looking to visit Dublin.

For dinner, we bundled up and headed out into the cold, damp night, weaving our way through The Temple Bar District towards the River Liffey. We climbed the winding steps for which The Winding Stair restaurant is named (along with inspiration from a poem by W.B. Yeats) and hoped there would be space for us as we did not have a reservation. Lucky for us, there were a few tables available and we were seated immediately. The atmosphere of the restaurant was cozy with tall ceilings and low lighting and the warm scents of spices and sauces coming from the open kitchen were mouthwatering. I ordered a pan-seared trout with parsnip puree, leeks, and capers and savored every bite, choosing to accompany my meal with a glass of red wine to wash it all down with.

After dinner, we walked to The Long Hall, one of Dublin’s oldest pubs which happened to also be conveniently situated around the corner from our hotel. The pub had a cozy, Victorian charm to it with red carpeting, red ceilings, red furnishings, dark wood architectural accents, and elegant light fixtures. I also read somewhere that The Long Hall is Bruce Springsteen’s favorite pub in Dublin and Mike and I enjoyed following in a fellow New Jerseyan’s footsteps by visiting. We sat at the end of the long bar and sipped our pints of Guinness slowly while reminiscing on the day’s activities and drives.

Dun Laoghaire & Dalkey

The next morning, we walked to the Tara Street DART station to catch a train to Dun Laoghaire (pronounced Dun Leary) and then on to Dalkey from there. The trains were frequent and affordable at €2.60 for a one way for each of us. If you are going to be staying in the area for longer, you may want to invest in a LEAP card to save further on the train fare.

Dun Laoghaire is a bustling harbor town about twenty minutes outside of Dublin by train. We walked the length of the East Pier, taking in views of the Irish Sea and the peninsula of Howth in the distance, remembering our visit there a few days prior. The walk was pleasant and we were happy to hear all the Irish accents around us as locals walked the pier for recreation and leisure.

One thing about Dublin city that you might not expect as a tourist is that you might hear a lot more foreign languages than English or English spoken with the pleasant Irish accents as it is such a multicultural place with visitors and locals from all over the world. This will be particularly so, if you are staying in the touristy areas in the center of the city. If you’d like to experience more local dialects and accents or even the Irish language, take the train outside of Dublin to some of the other coastal towns or drive to some of the other counties in this beautiful country. If you head to any of the country’s Gaeltacht areas, such as counties Donegal, Mayo, Galway, Kerry, Cork, Waterford, or Meath, you will probably also catch some locals speaking in Irish.

We hopped back on the DART for just a few stops and got off in Dalkey. This town was on my must-see list of places for this trip as it was home to one of my favorite authors and role models, Maeve Binchy. Going to the town where Maeve lived might not be everyone’s idea of a good time, but it was important to me. I would not be the reader or the writer that I am today without Maeve Binchy and her talent for story-telling and conveying her understanding of people as flawed, dynamic beings in need of community and purpose. When I read Maeve Binchy, I never fail to find a character with whom I can relate and I am grateful to her for that sense of representation, alone. She has helped me to feel ok at times when I didn’t feel so ok and she has put a smile on my face with her words more times than I can count. It felt good to be standing where she might have stood once, or perhaps even many times, before.

We headed into Finnegan’s in search of lunch, but the place was full and we were told it might be a while so we crossed the street to have a look around The Gutter Bookshop. I perused the Maeve Binchy titles on the shelves and picked out one I hadn’t read before, A Week in Winter, and purchased it as a souvenir. (I am most of the way through it and can recommend.) I was also interested to see that The Gutter Bookshop had a couple of shelves in their children’s section designated to Irish translations of children’s books to facilitate children’s learning the language from a young age.

Back to Finnegan’s it was for us after our little shopping excursion and it was only a little while before two seats opened up at the bar and we were seated. Mike ordered fish and chips and a Wicklow Wolf pale ale and I ordered cottage pie and a Guinness. Everything was delicious and it was pleasant to listen to the pretty Irish accents chatting all around us, the breathy, soft T punctuating the ends of sentences in that questioning Irish way, “Is it?”

Dublin (cont’d)

From our previous trip to Dublin, ten years ago, I remembered one of my favorite activities had been walking around the Trinity College campus. We headed into Trinity’s campus and were surprised to see that a winter convocation ceremony must have just let out as many graduates were dressed in robes and mortarboard caps, taking photos with friends and family. We did a quick loop around the central square of the campus to take in the architecture and headed on towards our next stop, Ireland’s oldest pub.

The Brazen Head, est. 1198, was a bit of a walk from Trinity, but once we got inside, it was pleasant, cozy, and very festively decorated. We snagged two seats at the bar and Mike ordered a Guinness and turned to me.

“Can I do a Half & Half?” I said to the bartender.

“No,” he said.

“A Guinness with Harp?” I said. Maybe I should really just stop trying to order this anywhere.

“No,” he said again, “I’ll tell you why. Our Guinness is too good here. It doesn’t settle. Here, I’ll show you.”

He poured a little Harp in a glass and topped it with Guinness and the whole thing was just a tan, foamy mess. No, indeed then, I thought.

“Weird,” I said, “Just a Guinness, then.”

As we enjoyed our pints, a couple came in and ordered at the bar.

“We’re in Dublin for one hour,” said the man, “We asked our driver where to go if we only have one hour in Dublin and he said here.”

In my memory, they asked the bartender for “the most Irish beer”.

The bartender said, “My selection?”

With a nod from the customer, he poured, to my surprise, not from the Guinness tap, but from the Brazen Head Red Ale tap. The man seemed happy enough.

After some time spent at our hotel to rest and warm up a bit, we bundled back up and walked south along Camden Street into the Portobello neighborhood. I read that Portobello has a great food scene and looked up an Indian restaurant there called Pickle that we were eager to try. We didn’t have a reservation for Pickle, but were seated immediately. I have read that reservations are recommended for this restaurant and it did fill out a bit while we were there, so just plan ahead if you ever decide to visit, yourself.

This dining experience was the culinary highlight of our trip. Granted, we love Indian food, but still, the flavors were out of this world and the ingredients were fresh and locally sourced. The portions were big and the food was hearty and delicious. If you’re ever in Dublin and you like spicy food, just do your tastebuds a favor and go.

To finish up our trip, we decided to visit a couple more pubs. Our first pub stop of the night was The Landmark where there was a very talented musician performing live music. We had only intended to get one pint there, but stayed a little longer since the performer was so good and the place was so comfortable and cozy.

For the last stop of the night, we walked to The Swan Bar. I could tell from outside that the place would be nice and toasty within as the windows were clouded over with steam. We shrugged out of our jackets and nestled ourselves onto two bar stools. We ordered our pints from a friendly, bearded man who could have passed for Santa Claus if he wanted to (though he actually mentioned to one of the other bartenders later on that he’d had an audition for a Santa job earlier that day and didn’t get it.) We sat and we sipped and Mike looked up pronunciation guides for words in Irish that made my head spin a little. The world outside was cold in a way that cut to the bone, but inside The Swan, the steam clouded the windows and we were sheltered and warm.

We wondered when we’d next be back to Ireland again.

If there is one thing we have learned from our trips to Ireland, it is that there is a magic to the place that continues to draw our hearts and tug upon our memories, pulling us back again and again. One visit is not enough, nor two, nor three, or four in Mike’s case. Perhaps this post will inspire some of you to read up on an Emerald Isle adventure of your own or to pick up a Maeve Binchy book and escape into the inviting pages, or to order a pint of Guinness next time you are out. If so, I hope you enjoy every minute, every page, every sip. Thanks for reading, all. Be well.