Trip Report :: Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica

6 / 10 / 216 / 18 / 21

Sona and I first went to Costa Rica–Puerto Viejo, on the Caribbean side–almost 10 years ago. We flew into San Jose, had a nearly 5 hour drive to our jungle abode in Puerto Viejo, and arrived after dark–hot, hungry, and suddenly unsure about staying in a cabin with no walls, no AC, and plenty of creepy, crawling things. I’m pretty sure I cried that first night.

A week later, we not only had settled into our first Costa Rica vacation, but we’d fallen so in love with the country that a seed had been planted: maybe, one day, we could live in a place like this.

That little seed settled, germinated, and grew. So, after a year of COVID and languishing and feeling so stuck I wanted to crawl out of my skin, it was no surprise that the first place we wanted to take the kids in a post-COVID (or, recovering, at least) world was Costa Rica. It’s the most freeing place we’d ever been, and we were craving freedom.

Wanting to explore the Pacific coast of the country, which seemed to be a much more popular spot for tourists, we settled on three locations over 2.5 weeks: Manuel Antonio (for the rainforest), Samara (for the ex-pat beach life), and Arenal (for the volcano and hot springs).

So, on the day of departure, we woke at 2AM, left our house by 3AM, had two flights and a long layover before landing in San Jose at around 1:30PM. We picked up our rental car (from Adobe, full insurance, for anyone looking to rent a vehicle during their stay), and embarked on the 3 hour drive to Manuel Antonio. The kids had barely napped, Finn got carsick and puked Oreos in the backseat, and, once again, we found ourselves arriving in less-than-stellar spirits. It didn’t help that we pulled into our rental villa after dark, which meant we couldn’t appreciate the view that we would wake to the next morning.

Our first stay was in Casa Camila, which is one of the properties of Alta Vista Vacation Rentals, which we found on AirBnB. I’ll be honest: it wasn’t our first choice. However, by the time we got around to finally booking, most of the MA homes we’d saved were already taken. Ironically, Casa Camila ended up being my and Sona’s favorite stay of the trip.

The house is small and quaint, but it has the modern luxuries (AC, washing machine, ample hot water) that make traveling a little more comfortable, especially with kiddos. The real winning feature was the pool, which overlooked the rainforest and the ocean, and was the perfect spot from which to watch the two nesting Scarlett macaws who made a tree directly in front of the property their home. In fact, of all of the places we stayed, our little bungalow in MA was the one where we most enjoyed just hanging out on property.

We spent our first day and a half in Manuel Antonio just settling in, hanging out by the pool, and letting the kids adjust to their new surroundings. We spent 5 days in MA, ultimately, which many would argue is too many, if you are the type who likes to have a new experience every single day, but since it was our first stop, it was nice to be able to transition slowly into vacation mode.

The kids are too small to take advantage of much of what MA has to offer, like strenuous hikes and zip lining galore and river rafting. However, we really came for the wildlife, and so we scheduled a guided tour of the Manuel Antonio National Park with Mike of Mike’s Nature Tours, and I can’t recommend him enough.

The tour is generally a 4-5 hour affair, including an hour-long stop at the beautiful beach that sits halfway through the MANP loop. Like most days in Costa Rica, the day we went was HOT and and humid, and the boys struggled a bit, both because they hadn’t fully adjusted to the heat and bugs (Elias got bitten by something the second we got to the park, and he was on edge for the rest of the time) and because most of the wildlife was best seen through a monocular, which didn’t always capture the interest of a 2 and 5 year old. Even though Mike pointed out a ton of wildlife that we’d never have seen without him (sloths, 3 kinds of monkeys, frogs, lizards, bats, birds, etc.), Elias and Finn were fading, and Sona and I ended up carrying them to the “rest stop,” which is a small cafe just before the beach.

Once they had some snacks, they rallied a bit, and by the time we hit the beach, they were all game for fun. The beach at MANP is GORGEOUS and remote and undeveloped in all of the best ways. Costa Rica isn’t known for its beaches, which CR enthusiasts will tell you, but I love their wildness. Although the water is a little too rough for the littles to swim in, we splashed and ran in the sand and chased iguanas and hermit crabs until Mike waved his hand, indicating it was time to move on with the tour.

The second half of the walk went a lot better, and the boys were motivated by the big surprise we had been baiting them with all morning. After we left MANP and grabbed some lunch, we checked into our second accommodation, which was a splurge that Sona and I had kept hidden from the boys for a few months: we were staying in a full-sized 747 jet that has been converted into a jungle home!

I’d be waiting for the moment when we pulled up to the jet for weeks, barely able to keep my mouth shut, and it did NOT disappoint. The 747, which we also booked through AirBnB, is on the property of the Costa Verde resort in MA, which is huge and well-groomed and boasts a few airplane abodes, as well as regular hotel rooms. The airplane was so well placed, though, that we felt like we were all alone, and we never saw more than one or two people at any of the pools on property.

The motto of the hotel is “more monkeys than people,” and they weren’t lying. Minutes after checking in, Finn went out on one of the balconies for some time in a hammock, and he was quite literally stormed by capuchins, who seemed to be dropping out of thin air, and who wanted to make clear that this was THEIR jungle, and we were just visitors. It scared little Finn to death, but is not one of our favorite memories of the trip.

The next day, which was our last in MA, we decided to find one of the secret beaches mostly only locals know about. Mike, our guide, recommended it, and it didn’t disappoint. Playa Biesanz is located off a jungle road, down a 10-minute jungle trail. It’s one of those places you wouldn’t know about unless someone told you, and that’s what made it so great. You’ll know you’re in the right spot when you see a few cars on the shoulder of the road and some local guys, who are make-shift parking attendants, asking for around $3 to watch your car. Just pay them. It’s honest work, and they are kind, and it’s less than you’d spend on a coffee in the States.

We spent a full half day at that beach, wading in the cool “sweet water” stream that comes down from the rainforest and trails into the ocean and drinking limonatas made by a local who has a very make-shift bar set up under the palm trees (you can also rent umbrellas and chairs from him for around $15).

Manuel Antonio is small, and many folks say there are better spots in Costa Rica to catch the rainforest. If we had to compare it to Puerto Viejo, which is also a beachfront town in the middle of the rainforest, I think we’d say we prefer the latter just slightly, but we were really charmed by MA, and it was a wonderful place to be welcomed into this trip. Sona and I make every attempt to steer clear of super touristy spots when traveling, and MA didn’t feel very touristy at all. Although, that might have been due to low numbers of travelers because of COVID. Nonetheless, we liked it a lot, and we would absolutely go back.

Our Manuel Antonio faves and recommendations:

rent a villa from Alta Vista Vacation Rentals, which feels more like a B&B–complete with hot breakfast every morning, cleaning service, and a concierge–than a true vacation rental
consider a night or two in one of the airplane abodes at Costa Verde and watch out for the capuchins
hire Mike from Mike’s Nature Tours for a guided tour of Manuel Antonio National Park (but make sure the kiddos have eaten plenty before going, as you aren’t allowed any snacks within the park)
eat at El Wagon Pizza, which has a great atmosphere for families and really, really good pizza
eat at Emilio’s Cafe–great breakfast and my favorite whole-fried fish of the entire trip
wander around the town of Quepos, and eat at one of the small sodas
take the kiddos to El Avion, a restaurant under the wings of a captured spy plane, with a great view and a cockpit they’ll love exploring (the food is good, not great, but worth a stop for the atmosphere)
absolutely stay somewhere with a view, as it’s one of the best features of MA

Finn Turns 5!

8 / 11 / 208 / 11 / 20

Finn,

Today, you turned 5! Five feels like the real beginning of growing up which, of course, I hate. But watching you grow up has been the best part of my life. And so, I’m willing to accept that it must go on.

We are in the middle of a pandemic–something I hope we can all one day talk about as having been a strange, but relatively short-lived, part of our history. So, we couldn’t celebrate this milestone birthday in the way I would’ve have wanted, but you didn’t seem to mind much.

This past Friday, we took you to your first water park to celebrate. We know that solo days with me and Mommy are few and far between, and we wanted to give you our undivided attention for as long as we could. We also wanted to see you swim, something you are well on you way to being able to do, thanks to Coach MG, who you started training with this year!

True to form, you were scared of pretty much every feature of the park, but when I told you I really, really wanted all of us to go down the big family slide together, you committed to going up. You acted silly all the way to the very top, which was quite high. I knew your silliness was a way of trying to cover up the anxiety you were feeling and, sure enough, your mask slipped the second we stepped foot into the raft. We quite literally had to hold you down, screaming, while telling the lifeguard to push.

He did. You froze. I’m pretty sure none of us will ever forget that ride.

We have to push you to be the brave boy we know you can be a lot, but you also push us right back in the most incredible ways. You push me to be present when you tell me to get off of my phone. You push Mommy to let go of housework when you tell her “Come here and see this!” You push all of us to be more silly, more full of life, and more centered on our family.

When we ask you what you want to do with a free weekend, your answer is always “be together.”

You, my little nervous boy, are also the kindest, most empathetic, and most wonderfully sensitive soul. You are thoughtful about others in ways that astound me. Everyone who really knows you sees these things in you, too.

Today, we decked the house out in every Super Mario Bros. decoration we could find, determined to make this birthday special. Mario is a newfound obsession, along with Sonic, the Ninja Turtles, and anything having to do with space.

You are currently sleeping under a string of solar system lights, which was one of your birthday gifts. You asked, “Why does only Saturn have rings?” Because you are smart enough to know that other planets actually have rings, too.

You are so smart. You have the most incredible memory, and can easily remember things from when you were 2 or 3 in unbelievable detail. You have an addiction to stuffed animals, or “stuffies”, as you call them, and I have to sneak and purge them while you’re at school, else your room would be over-run. You are an expert scooter-er, like to show us how fast you can run (FAST), and seem to pick up pretty much every athletic skill with ease. You insist on hugging your brother every morning at school drop-off, even though he couldn’t care less. You pretty much only eat fruit, vegetables, and snacks. You have started showering by yourself (much to my dismay). You are an avid rule-follower, quick to point out when we are doing something wrong. And you’ll do pretty much anything for the promise of a video game night with Mommy and I.

There’s no one in the world I’d rather spend a day with than you, Finn. Your brother may be the little light of our family, but you are our heart.

We love you endlessly. I can’t wait to see what your 5th year brings!

Happy birthday!

Elias Turns 2!

7 / 31 / 207 / 31 / 20

My sweet Elias,

Today, you are two. It feels like you went to sleep as my last baby and woke up as a little boy. I can’t believe it has already been two years, but don’t all parents say that? (Probably because it’s true.)

Last night, Finn, Mommy, and I all had to take turns holding the back of your t-shirt collar so that you wouldn’t run into the street, head turned slightly back toward us, just enough for us to see your devlish smile–an expression with which we’ve become quite familiar. (You should know: your brother is always trying to save you.)

You keep us on our toes, Elias. I’ve never met a kid so hard to keep alive but so easy to love. You are daring and brave and endlessly silly, but you are also affectionate and kind and care-free in the best possible ways. After you’ve done something impossibly dangerous–like jump head-first off of the couch or sneak out of the back door–your mommy and I will just look at each other, shake our heads, and ask “What are we going to do with this one?”

But we also tell each other, “I would have another baby in a second if I knew for sure they would be like Elias.”

You charm everyone who meets you, Elias. You are all fun, all of the time. You’re hardly ever cranky, really never have tantrums (though, I know they are likely coming), and you always go with the flow. You love to be the life of the party.

The running joke in the family is that, one day, you’ll be everyone’s favorite college buddy–the guy who everyone goes to for a laugh, and the one who will be on YouTube, standing at the edge of some rooftop, half-naked, doing something that personifies the phrase, “Hold my beer!”

You are all joy and sunshine and dimples. From the second you wake up, waiting patiently in your crib, singing and playing, for as long as we leave you there, you are happy.

You, like most little boys, idolize your big brother, following him around, feigning pain if he gets hurts, stealing all of his favorite toys. You ask to go “night night” and love to sleep. You prefer Zoe and Abby over Big Bird and Grover. You love Elmo, but never watch Elmo. Your current favorite trick is to pretend you are choking, after which you laugh. You are memorized by music; love “snacks”; would live on fruit; have an impressively expansive vocabulary for a newly-minted 2-year-old; can share clothes with Finn, who is almost 5; skip and hop more than you walk; are impossibly clumsy, but rarely fuss about taking a topple; adore books; say “Oh, shit” at all the appropriate moments; refuse to wear your shoes outside; don’t bother even saying goodbye to us at school each morning, though your brother always tries to give you a goodbye hug from behind; love making messes and love cleaning them up; want to go on the “po-ch” constantly; never turn down a walk; are always singing (“Wheels on the Bus,” “Clean Up, Clean Up,” “Hello, Hello,” and the ABCs are current faves); and are known in the neighborhood as “that boy who walks around in boots and a diaper.”

You are so unlike everyone else in our little family, the rest of us who tend to be anxious and overly emotional and introverted. But not you! You are our little light–the one who keeps all of us laughing, even when things get dark.

We love you endlessly, Elias Lake, and we are so happy you’re ours. Happy birthday!

Whatever Year You’re In, There You Are

1 / 3 / 201 / 3 / 20

“I’m going to write a blog post,” I just told Sona, as she settled into the couch for a quick cat nap before getting the boys.

“You remember how to do that?” she joked.

So, I’m upstairs, the sky outside greying, sitting in the final glow of our Christmas tree–which will hopefully be awaiting pick-up in the alley come tomorrow afternoon. I have 30 minutes before I need to prep dinner, and the almond-scented soft meringues, which I’ve been wanting to cook for months, are drying out in the oven. Fingers crossed.

For me, this is what trying to welcome in 2020–and letting some more light into my life–looks like: this blog post and those meringues.

Here’s the thing: 2019 and I just didn’t get on as I’d expected. It wasn’t until about 3/4 of the way through the year that I realized I was–shall we say–foggy? By but the end of the year, and especially in the midst of the holiday chaos, it became really clear: something has been up.

I’ve never experienced depressive episodes. Have I maybe battled back bouts of depression in the past? Likely. Can I identify with the can’t-get-out-of-bed-heaviness that depression narratives so often circle around? No.

Anxiety has always been my brand of mental illness.

But as 2019 drew to an end and I started to reflect on my year, a lot of which I can only remember through a haze, I realized that, sometime before summer, I started to slip.

Hindsight is 20/20 (see what I did there?), and for whatever reason, I didn’t bother doing the math. I saw all of the disparate symptoms–relentless sleepiness, inexplicable weight gain, frequent illness, general malaise, irritability, hair loss, low-level sadness, increased anxiety–but I didn’t assess the sum total.

Mostly, I knew I’d lost motivation to do anything–but especially the things that give me joy, and that probably should have been the telltale sign. At some point in early December, I crumbled into a ball in front of Sona, sobbing, “I don’t do anything I love anymore.”

I’d lost my joie de vivre.

I’d virtually quit blogging. I haven’t been enthusiastic or inventive in the kitchen. I’ve barely reached for my camera to document the boys’ lives this year. I abruptly stopped working on a writing project that was my primary focus at the beginning of 2019. I haven’t fussed over my Etsy shop or nurtured my photography business.

Ultimately, I stopped engaging any of my usual outlets for creativity.

I stopped doing the things that make me me, and while I don’t know if that qualifies as depression, I do know that it triggered–or was triggered by–something close to it.

A friend recently sent me a meme that said something along the lines of, “2020: But did you die tho?” In fact, I kind of almost did.

Back in March, while on a family trip to Antigua, a severe case of food poisoning morphed into a near-death case of diabetic ketoacidosis, landing me in the ICU for four days. I’m really quick to say that, as much of a setback as that was physically, it didn’t make much of an impact on me emotionally, but Sona has repeatedly said that she thinks that is when I started to slip into a funk.

I also suspect that my medical drama might have triggered another health issue, which I’m going to chat with my doctor about next week.

On top of all of that, I had an extremely flexible teaching schedule this past summer and fall, enabling me to teach online and work remotely more than usual. While everyone kept saying how “lucky” I was to have that kind of flexibility–and I know that I am–I knew early on that having more alone time than usual wouldn’t be good for me. I don’t do well when I have too much time to sit by myself and think. I tend to over-analyze everything and internalize guilt about having so much spare time, which sends me swinging on a really unhealthy pendulum.

On one side, I become hyper-productive, trying to compensate for my own insecurities about not contributing enough–to our family, the world, our bank account–by tackling never-ending to-do lists. On the other, I am positively slothful, somehow even further burdened by the expectations of what I should be doing with my extra time and, ironically, more apt to completely waste it. Thus, the guilt spiral perpetuates.

This is all to say that, as I write this now, three days into the new year, I can see some of the fog lifting. I’ve spent a couple of not-so-fun months reckoning with the hole I’d dug myself into, and the promise of the calendar turning over has given me the nudge I needed to try to claw my way out–placebo or no.

So, this year, my resolutions look a lot more like tiny promises to myself than lofty, externally-motivated goals:

Get back to writing.

Reach for my camera more often.

Be better at listening to my body.

Do the things that bring me joy.

Make the damn meringues.

And mostly, pay more attention to myself and where my head is at.

This is me. It isn’t a before. There won’t be an after. I don’t endeavor to go down a pant size or lose 50 pounds or, god forbid, give up carbs.

But I have gotten myself out of the house every day for a week. I’ve moved my body. I’ve made the doctor appointments I’ve avoided for months. I signed up for an advanced memoir-writing class that begins in three days. I’ve cooked some new meals. I put up Christmas decorations. I’ve let myself take naps without feeling any guilt.

I am showing up for myself–not shaming myself–and that’s what matters. My hope for 2020 is that all of us mommas–who are so good at mothering everyone else–don’t forget to mother ourselves, too.

Where to Eat in Chicago

7 / 1 / 199 / 17 / 20

**Updated 9/17/20

This post has been like 15 years in the making. I’ve written a version of it again and again–in texts messages and emails, to people I’ve never met and to close family members. There’s at least 10 times a year when I get asked, “Where should I eat when I come to Chicago?”

If you have ever visited the city and allowed me to play tour guide for a day, you know how seriously I consider that question. It sends me into a damn-near clinically insane spiral wherein I’m likely to ask you a million follow-up questions (What’s your shoe size? How do you like to spend Sunday afternoons? How were the stars aligned when you were born?) and offer up twenty seven complete multi-step, multi-dish itineraries.

Next to my family and travel and words, food and the City of Chicago are two of the things I hold the most dear. So, when you ask me to tell you how to best eat your way around my city, I go into a full-on tailspin.

Even now, I’m not sure how to best approach this. Top Chicago bites? Organize spots by neighborhoods? Break down by price points? I could write a handbook on where and how to eat in Chicago, but I’m going to try to drill it down to a somewhat palatable blogpost. (See what I did there?) There are no less than four people currently waiting for me to send them my list. Therefore, I figured now is as good a time as any to begin writing it down.

So, without further ado, here is where I think you should eat in Chicago!

I don’t think you have to spend a ton of money to eat well in Chicago, but I do think Chicago has some mid-to-higher-end places that, to my mind, are destination eateries that help put us on the map. Before I breakdown into smaller categories, here is the list of what I consider to be Chicago’s most noteworthy, scene-defining restaurants, in no particular order (it goes without saying that you need to make reservations for all of these places way ahead of time):

Girl & the Goat: Stephanie Izard, of Top Chef fame, is one of Chicago’s most beloved chefs and one of the country’s most successful female restauranteurs. She now has four restaurants in the city. This is the first and most well-known. If you want to try Izard’s food but can’t get into Girl & the Goat, Little Goat is a great alternative!

Monteverde: Another female Top Chef’s feature restaurant. Maybe the best Italian in the city. (Other contenders for this spot would be Spiaggia, Nico Osteria, and Sienna Tavern.)

Alinea: Before anyone gives me shit about this, let me just acknowledge that you can’t make a list of the best Chicago restaurants without including Alinea, which is widely regarded as one of the best restaurants in the world. If you want a combination dinner/theater experience that costs as much as a month’s rent, you should try it. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime meal, and it’s as much about the spectacle as it is about the food.

Publican: This hip, small-plates meat-focused restaurant really put that style of dining on the map, and it was the first to break into the now hot-as-coal food scene in Chicago’s Fulton Market neighborhood. Get the pork rinds and the duck fat fries with a fried egg on top and, if you call ahead of time so they can have it shipped in from Japan, the seafood tower.

Au Cheval: Best burger in the world. There, I said it, and others have too. The last time I went, we waited 7 hours for a table. Yes, 7 hours. Yes, it was totally worth it. If you don’t have the time or energy, you can get an almost-as-good-but-not-quite version at Small Cheval, of which there are many locations.

The Purple Pig: I don’t know a single Chicagoan that doesn’t love this long-standing small-plate wine bar. The food has never been anything less than excellent, and they’ve recently moved to a larger location, which means you actually have a chance of grabbing a table at this spot that doesn’t take reservations but still packs in the crowds after having been opened for years.

Offbeat Hip Neighborhood Spots:

Lula Cafe: Honestly, this could be in the first category, too. Like Purple Pig, every Chicagoan loves this small, seasonal restaurant that boasts an inventive menu in one of Chicago’s up-and-coming neighborhoods, Logan Square.

Giant: Homemade pastas, great cocktails, small space, and hip vibe. We still talk about our meal there, including the fantastic cocktail, which we have the recipe for hand-written on a postcard the waiter gave us.

Passerotto: This relatively new Italian/Korean fusion joint is in our ‘hood. The crudos and the pastas were some of my best bites of last year. You won’t find this menu anywhere else. Skip the Korean BBQ platter, IMO. (This restaurant has since closed.)

Longman & Eagle: Hipster-ville but totally delicious. Go for brunch or dinner with friends.

Fat Rice: Portuguese-Chinese fusion that sorta went viral in Chicago. Great pastry selection. Huge communal tables. Rowdy, fun vibe. Go in a group so you can order a lot! (This restaurant has since closed.)

Steakhouses:

Maple & Ash: I feel like someone is going to yell at me for not having any of the classic Chicago steakhouses on this list, but oh well. Maple & Ash is one of the most romantic, special restaurants I’ve been to in the city. This place is SEXY (we’re talking actual candelabras and velvet curtains), and their wood-fired seafood with chili oil is the stuff of dreams. I’ve been dying to try their Sunday brunch, which seems deliciously opulent.

RPM: Made famous by the celeb couple Bill and Giuliana Ranic, RPM is superb. It also has one of my favorite bites in the city: the miso crab appetizer. HOLY DELICIOUSNESS. I know several Chicagoans who have gone multiple times, including ourselves, and that’s saying something in a city that prides itself on high-end steakhouses. I don’t like the counterpart, RPM Italian, though.

Bavette’s: This is my go-to recommendation for date night. It’s swanky and sexy and the food is absolutely fantastic. They also have my favorite seafood tower in Chicago, and I’ve tried dozens.

Brunch Spots:

M. Henry: We live around the corner from this Chicago staple. It’s been open for years, and there’s still a line around the block every weekend. It was one of Chicago’s first brunch-only restaurants. The bliss cakes are where it’s at.

Prime & Provisions: Imagine that Marie Antoinette, who grew up to be a high-power businesswomen, said “I want an AYCE brunch, and I want it to be EXTRA.” That’s what you get here. The jaw-dropping spread is sure to wow you–and your belly.

The Allis: In the lobby of the uber hip Soho House Chicago, The Allis is all plush velvet sofas, antique rugs, chandeliers, and floor-to-ceiling windows. Their brunch is killer, but so is the atmosphere. Get the coconut pudding and the avocado toast.

SummerHouse Santa Monica: True to the name, this feels like a real CA experience. It’s bright and airy and bustling, and the brunch menu is extensive, as is the pastry selection!

Etta: From the same folks who did Maple & Ash, Etta is one of my favorite new-ish places in the city. Dinner is fantastic, too, but brunch is my favorite meal there. Also super kid-friendly.

Sweets:

BomboBar: You really don’t know me at all if you don’t know how deeply my love for BomboBar runs. Fresh-fried Italian donuts and obscene milkshakes and sundaes that are the stuff of Instagram foodies’ dreams. Luckily, they just opened a second location. So, I won’t have to wait in a 50-person line anymore. (Though, TBH, I would have done that forever.)

Pretty Cool Ice Cream: Insta-worthy interior, drool-worthy frozen treats. PCIC has a range of 20+ popsicles and ice cream bars, all made in-house. Think caramel ice cream dipped in milk chocolate and covered in salty potato chips.

Mindy’s Hot Chocolate: This place has an impressive savory menu too, but we’ve only ever gone for the desserts, including the hot chocolate so good it warrants the restaurant name. You’ll want a reservation, as the secret has been out about this place for quite some time. (They are now producing THC-laced edible sweets, too. Get ready, Chicago!) (This restaurant has since closed.)

Sweet Mandy B’s: If you close your eyes and imagine what the bakery of your unicorn-laden dreams would look like, this would be it. SMB’s has my favorite buttercream-smothered desserts in the world. Their iced sugar cookies and vanilla cupcakes are my standards, but I dare you to leave without a box full of temptations.

Floriole: Floriole is right next door to SMB’s and is like its older, more sophisticated French cousin. They do a great cafe-style lunch, and their croissants and composed desserts are some of the best in the city. The passion-fruit tart and pot de creme are my personal faves, along with their bacon, arugula, and fig sandwich.

Chicago “Must Eats”:

Lou Malnati’s: I don’t love deep dish pizza, admittedly, but this is the one most Chicagoans recommend, and, if you’re in the city for the first time, deep dish is a rite of passage. Chicagoans go for the sausage.

Pequod’s: If I have to eat deep dish, this is the one I prefer–crispy, near-burnt cheese on the crust seals the deal.

Weiner’s Circle: This place is a bit of a Chicago legend. Great char-dogs with all the Chicago toppings, served alongside a good ol fashion verbal roasting from the workers. Go, ask for ketchup, have your iPhone video camera ready.

Hot G Dawg: Hot Doug’s was a famous hot dog eatery in the city, garnering lines around the block. When it closed, the cooks opened Hot G Dawg, which is in our ‘hood. It’s uber-casual but uber-delicious. Get the classic Chicago dog and tots with cheese!

Taqueria El Asadero: Everyone knows about Chicago pizza and hot dogs, but the city is just as well-known for its authentic street tacos, and everyone has their favorite spot. This one is ours. Bring cash, prepare to smell like grilled steak, and, if it is nice, take your order to the park across the street and eat in the grass.

Cocktails:

Lost Lake: There are two can’t-miss tiki bars in the city, and this is one of them. Three Dots and a Dash is the other. The first is a bit hipster and the second is a bit scene-y, but both promise a good time, show-stopping Hawaiian-inspired cocktails, and lots of fun. (If you have an extra $500 to spare, try the Treasure Chest at Three Dots.)

Aviary: The Aviary is owned by the same people who brought us Alinea, and some may think it’s equally obnoxious/expensive/outrageous, but I love it. In fact, I much prefer the cocktail experience at Aviary to the dining experience at Alinea. If you want to really go big, book the chef’s kitchen table. The food is as good as the cocktails, which are each their own work of art. Two (three?) words: foie gras Snickers.

Apogee: Apogee is a less expensive, slightly less impressive alternative to Aviary. You won’t need tickets ahead of time, and there’s a great view, complete with an outdoor space. Plus, you’ll still get weird science-fair ready drinks with shit like cotton candy floating atop your martini.

Signature Lounge: The ONLY reason I am recommending this place is because it’s the best way to get a FREE view from the near-top of the Hancock building without paying to go to the observation deck. Instead, grab a cocktail at this restaurant on the 95th floor and enjoy the sights. Eat the food at your own risk.

Randolph Eats:

Au Cheval: already mentioned above

BombaBar: already mentioned above

Bavette’s: already mentioned above

Avec: Randolph is the most restaurant-packed street in Chicago, and you could easily make a day of eating your way up and down it. Avec is a little tapas-style bar with only enough seating for a handful of people. Go right as lunch or dinner service begins or make a reservation. Eat the chorizo-stuffed dates (though, everything is wonderful).

Bonci: Bourdain once called Bonci his favorite pizza in Rome, and Chicago got their first US location. You walk in, spy 20 or so different foccacia-style pizzas, and order by the slice, which they cut with a pair of scissors. Try 5 or 6 varieties, grab a can of wine or a cold beer, and chow down while you game-plan the rest of your Randolph eating adventure.

Gus’s Fried Chicken: When Memphis-started Gus’s finally came to Chicago, I was one happy southern gal. If you know me, you know how much I love fried chicken, and Gus’s is the best I’ve ever had. Anywhere. Ever.

Cold Storage: Okay, this is technically a couple blocks from Randolph, but it still counts. Cold Storage is one of the places we’ve been to the most–and since we try something new every time we go out, that is saying something. They have the best raw bar stuff (oysters, crab legs, etc.) in the city, and their smoked trout dip is INSANE. I like to go, grab a cocktail, sit at the bar, and down some seafood before moving on to the next stop.

Bavette’s/Maude’s: I’ve already mentioned Bavette’s, and Maude is Bavette’s twin. Both are dark and sexy. Both have a speakeasy vibe. Both have been long-standing winners on the Chicago dining scene. Maude’s steak tartare is the best in Chicago.

Cheap-ish Eats

Xoco: Rick Bayless is one of the most famous Chicago chefs–a ginger guy known for his Mexican cuisine. (I’ll let you work out the ethics of that.) I’m not a huge fan, but XOCO is the exception. It’s his fast-casual concept, and I prefer the food to his finer dining establishments. The masa dumpling soup with carnitas and arugula is one of my favorite Chicago dishes, but folks also love the tortas.

Taqueria El Asadero: already mentioned above

La Unica Market: This place is so underground they don’t even have a website. La Unica is a Cuban market on the north side of the city, and there’s a cafe tucked in back that serves amazing fare, including killer cubano sandwiches, the best black beans you’ll ever eat, and a whole range of Latin finds.

Calumet Fisheries: This place requires three things of you: a car, a love of seafood, and a serious devotion to foodie travel adventures, as you’ll have to drive a good 30 minutes from downtown in order to access this roadside seafood shack, where you can get the best smoked salmon–and a whole host of other sea-based fare–to go. Eat the fish with your hands, out of a paper bag, while sitting in a nearby park. Be prepared to smell of hickory for the entire day, but it’s so worth it.

Lao Sze Chuan: When I moved to the city, LSC only had one location; now they have many. I can’t really vouch for the others, but the one in Chinatown has long been a favorite of ours. Get the dan-dan noodles and the five chili chicken. After, head over to Chiu Quon Bakery for $1.00 pork buns and coconut custard tarts. (There’s also a Chiu Quon on Argyle, which is in the city’s Little Vietnam neighborhood.)

Manny’s Deli: Open for over 75 years, this is a true NYC-style Jewish deli experience. You grab a tray and work your way down the line, ordering all of the smoked meat sandwiches, matzo ball soups, and other Jewish delicacies you can bare to carry.

Sun Wah BBQ: If you’ve never done a Peking duck experience, then you must try this place! Bring at least 4 people, be sure to call and order at least 24 hours ahead of time, and be prepared for a feast. One duck will net you enough bao for 4-5 people, duck fried rice, and duck soup.

Wildcards:

Here are some places that are work a visit but didn’t fit neatly into any other category

Langham: Best afternoon tea service in a totally awe-inspiring hotel space. Fancy, girly–worth the splurge!

Proxi: One of our favorite new restaurants of the past few years. They do global-inspired street food in a slightly upscale, but still whimsical, way.

Bar Ramone: Some of our favorite tapas and cocktails are in this small but centrally located bar. The salmon tartare, tomato bread with jamon, and patatas bravas (which they do as fries) should all be tried. It’s perfect for a group date or cocktails and nibbles before a night out.

Eataly: Nearly every major city in the US now has its own Eataly, but if you’ve never been to one, this Italian food mega-mall/dining hall is definitely worth a stop. There’s a Nutella station. Need I say more?

Virtue: Stationed in Hyde Park and run by one of the Obamas’ favorite chefs, Virtue has the best Southern food we’ve eaten outside of the South.

Honorable mentions: Galit (very new Israeli place that’s on everyone’s hot list with good reason), The Gage (one of our first Chicago loves–good option across the street from Millennium Park, Aba (only for the rooftop and cocktails, beware of scenesters), Burger Bar (our favorite burgers, after Au Cheval), Tank Noodle (and any of the pho places on Argyle, really), Uru Swati (our favorite Indian street food spot),

For Christina (or When Life-long Friends Become First-time Moms)

5 / 16 / 195 / 16 / 19

Christina:

Welcome to the club. Two months from now, if all goes as planned, you’ll be holding your baby boy, and I will be an unofficial (but very enthusiastic) auntie.

I can’t even explain to you how much I’ve waited for that day. Though, if my incessant nagging has been any indication, you already know. Wanting my own friends, especially my most cherished, beloved friends, to have babies is a pretty self-serving desire, admittedly. After nearly four years of mom-ing, myself, I now know how absolutely integral a Moms’ Club is. I only have a couple of friends with babies, and I’ve leaned on them–especially in the beginning–for survival. That’s not hyperbole.

I was terrified, and I was a mess.

You are probably terrified, too, and you should be. You are about to be tired in ways you never knew you could be tired. I’m talking whole-body exhaustion that will take away your ability to think rationally.

You are going to forget who you were before you were a mom. Some of that evolution you’ll welcome, and a lot you’ll resent. You’ll forget how to be a partner, too, for a while at least. It’ll take its toll, and you will feel–you will be–beat down and bedraggled.

You are also going to be worried and scared and frustrated beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. This is the trope people focus on when depicting parenthood—and I get why. That part is awful, and people should know what they are getting into. (Though, really, how can you ever know until you know?)

But the part they don’t do a good job of explaining, the part no movie or TV show or book or sappy Hallmark commercial gets quite right, is just how good it is.

It is so good. Life-defining good.

And that’s the other reason I want so badly for my friends to become moms. Yes, so we can commiserate over texts and alcohol, hair disheveled and sweatpants stained, about how worn out we are. But also, yes, so you can experience “so much wonder that wonder is not the word,” as a poet I love writes.

Let me paint you a picture: it is 4:00 in the afternoon. I’ve just finished my last class of what has been a really trying semester. I have approximately 27 things to do, and I know the kids will be home in less than an hour. I could be doing those things. I could be eating the salted caramel macarons I just bought, against my better judgement, at a local bakery. I could be prepping dinner or putting away the groceries that were delivered 45 minutes ago or taking a quick nap, which we all know I need.

Instead, I’m sitting in the rocking chair in the boys’ room, obsessively watching videos of when they were babies, mascara trailing down my face. It’s a pathetic thing to see. I’m a cliche. And I don’t care even one little bit.

I am obsessed with my kids. My life is damn-near unmanageable because of them, and yet I still want more of them. I count down the minutes until the boys’ bedtime each night, and then I crawl into my own bed and scroll through photos and videos of them.

I have never known a fear or sorrow like what I experience when I think about them growing up. So, I just try not to think about it all that much.

My life is harder, more stressful, less creative, less glitzy, more taxing than it has ever been. It’s also better in unimaginable, indescribable ways.

You won’t understand what I mean completely, now. How can you? It’s like trying to explain the ocean to someone who has never left the sand. You might not even understand immediately, in the weeks after the baby is born. Don’t give yourself a hard time about that. The fog can be hard to see through.

But you’re going to understand it, soon. You’re going to be sitting in a corner of your bedroom–which will, undoubtedly, be a mess–and the baby will have finally gone to sleep after hours of fussiness; and your face will be dirty and your clothes will be spit-up stained; and you won’t have had 5 minutes of quality time with your husband in as long as you can remember; and there will be more laundry than you think you’ll ever get done; and you’ll figure you have about 40 minutes, if you’re lucky, to shower for the first time in days; and you’ll reach for a bath towel but spot the baby monitor out of the corner of your eye, instead; and, against your better judgement, you’ll grab it, turning the volume up just high enough to hear your baby cooing; you’ll zoom in, panning the camera around so that you can see his lips in the shape of a sweet “O,” his belly rising and falling, and one soft curl on his head; and you’ll think, “What’s one more day without a shower?”; and you’ll sit back on the floor, instead; and you’ll watch your baby breathe; and you’ll be filled with so much wonder that wonder isn’t the word.

And I can’t wait.

Danielle

Trip Report: Antigua

4 / 12 / 198 / 6 / 19

It’s pretty obvious to everyone that our trip to Antigua didn’t end well. What with cancelled and rebooked flights, two cases of food poisoning, and an ER visit on the other end, we didn’t exactly get to ease out of the island in the same way we eased into it.

Still, before things spiraled, they were actually pretty great. For the boys, at least, the trip was full of only good memories. Finn, especially, seemed to really hit his vacation stride on this trip, and I know his memories of Antigua will only consist of the happy things: donkey kisses, water bottle fights with local kids, and more pool time than he could ever want.

Antigua was a beautiful island, and though we’d worried that it would be too developed for our taste, we managed to avoid most of the cruise crowds, and it ended up being just our speed.

It was our 10th island, Finn’s 3rd, and Elias’s 1st. All things considered, I’d say it was a pretty good inauguration into Caribbean life for our little guy.

Here are more photos than you probably want to see from our time there.

Our Antigua Faves and Recommendations:

stay in a villa at Tamarind Hills
get avocados and Antiguan pineapples from Clemie’s fruit stand
grab a passion fruit daiquiri from the bar at Carlisle Bay resort
make a day of going to Long Bay beach (the end opposite the Pineapple Resort), eating at Mama’s Pasta, and seeing Devil’s Bridge
eat lunch and then reserve a daybed at Jacqui O’s
visit the donkey sanctuary
eat a trendy meal at Sheer Rocks
spend a day (or 5) at Ffryes Beach, renting chairs and umbrellas from Dennis’s
go to the Sunday night BBQ at Shirley’s Heights

To My Son’s Soon-to-Be Daycare Provider

1 / 9 / 191 / 9 / 19

Hello,

We haven’t actually met yet, but in just five days, you’ll assume responsibility for our precious 5 month old son, Elias.

I just spent a chunk of the morning filling out the numerous in-take forms your employer requires, answering dozens of questions about our sweet baby boy: What time does he wake? (Between 7:30-8AM.) Where does he prefer to nap? (In bed, next to me.) How do I show him affection? (Hugs, kisses, cuddles.) How would I prefer for you to show him affection? (Hugs, kisses cuddles.) How much does he eat? What makes him cry? What makes him feel comforted? The list goes on.

Still, despite the very thorough questionnaires, there’s so much I still want to tell you–so much I need for you to know.

I need you to know that this is our last baby–our last boy. I am in the final days of what might very likely be the last extended stretch of time that I ever have to be just a mom. Not an employee. Not a colleague. Not a team player. Not a committee member or an advisor or a coordinator. Just a momma. That thought guts me a bit. Okay, it guts me a whole heck of a lot.

You see, here’s the thing: I love my job. I love having a job. I love serving and contributing and thinking in ways that motherhood doesn’t allow. I know that I need my work–and that I am more than a momma. But on days like this, weeks like this–dare I say, years like this?–I wonder if I don’t need my boys more.

When I go back to work on Monday, my office will look exactly as it did when I left six months ago. My boys? They do not. They are different people entirely, and the rapid pace at which they are changing isn’t going to slow down anytime soon. Not for me. Not for my job.

I need you to know that, on many days, you’ll likely see me hurried and frazzled. I’ll be dragging a toddler in on one hand and lugging a car seat that I can barely lift with the other. I’ll have to change shoes and remove coats and remember bottles and blankets and loveys. I’ll probably be running late, as I almost always am now, and I’ll practically toss you our sweet baby boy from afar and rush out the door without so much as a goodbye.

You’ll think I was ready to hand him off. You’ll think I wanted an escape. (Some days, you’ll be right.) But mostly, especially in the beginning, I’ll be running to my car to cry.

I need you to know that, in the coming months, I will become better at math–something I haven’t had a knack for in the past. But I will spend an inordinate amount of time quantifying, crunching the numbers. I will calculate that you get to spend 8 hours a day with my son, and I only get 4. I will calculate that you get 5 days, and I get 2. I will figure out that we pay most of my paycheck and far more than our mortgage to have someone else take care of our children. I will total the time–years–lost, and I will know that I’ll never get that time back. I will try very hard not to be angry and resentful about this, but I’ll fail.

I’ll do a cost-benefit analysis constantly. I’ll never be able to figure out whether the cost is worth the benefit–or whether there’s any benefit at all.

Believe me when I say that I’m not complaining about how much you make. I want you to make more.

I am SO thankful.

What else can I do for you? Can I bake you cookies? Paint your nails? The work you are doing–the service you provide our family–is invaluable. You deserve every single cent–and likely much more.

So, when you hear me–and likely other parents, too–complain about the cost, please know that we don’t mean the cost of your exhausting, loving service. We are talking about a bigger cost, ultimately, and it’s one that is part of a system that isn’t really sustainable, I don’t think. We are probably all plotting our escape.

I need you to know, also, that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you have to do this work. I’m sorry that you probably leave your kids so that you can watch mine. I’m sorry that you usually see me at my worst, and that the expectations are so high. I’m sorry that I’m not a more present employee–or that I don’t make more sacrifices for my job. I’m sorry that having a job often means I’m not a more present mother and that my boys don’t always see the best of me, either. I’ll think about how many BMs my baby has had while in very important meetings, and I’ll think about the very important meetings while I rock my baby to sleep.

I spend so much time being sorry and feeling guilty that there’s hardly time left for anything else. That’s a product of the system, also.

But there’s little things I want you to know, too. Like that Elias is most ticklish on his lower back, just under his ribs. And that he will stare you down if you don’t give him a taste of what you’re eating. He likes to sleep on his belly but eat on his back. His hands will always stink, but the back of his neck is delicious. He will break his neck to look at your phone screen (guilty for that, too), and he’s convinced he can talk. There are no diapers that will ever properly fit his chunky thighs, and that will lead to quite a few messes, I’m afraid. He practically never cries, but if he does, just find his brother. That’s his favorite person in the entire world.

As for me? My favorite people in the whole wide world are my sons. Each day, I have to leave them. But each evening, thanks to you, I come back to find them happy and full and rested and ALIVE.

I wish there was truly a way to have it all, but that kind of balance doesn’t exist. Maybe, one day, I’ll find it. In the meantime, we’re in this together, and I needed you to know how much that means.

Love, Elias’s Momma

Trip Report: Sintra, Portugal

10 / 30 / 18

Sintra is the place we spent the least amount of time and, perhaps, the one that left the most lasting impression. We’ve been home nearly two weeks, now, and Sona has mentioned it almost every single day since.

To be honest, Sintra wasn’t on our radar when we landed in Portugal. It wasn’t until were searching for things to do while in Lisbon that we stumbled upon (like a million) recommendations to do a day trip to Sintra. Then, once we read about it once, everyone started mentioning it: waiters, Uber drivers. “Are you going to visit Sintra?” was a question we were asked at least a half a dozen times. So, we did.

Because we wanted good weather, we saved our visit to Sintra until the last day of our vacation. I spent hours researching how to get there, what we should do once there, and all sorts of little details, as the historic town is enchanting, but it’s also a little trick to get around. It’s full of small, winding one-way streets, and transportation can be daunting.

We took the CP train to Sintra from the Rossio train station, which is in central Lisbon and was only a 5 minute walk from our AirBnB. Because it’s a local train, you can’t buy tickets ahead of time. It runs every 50 minutes or so. We got there, expecting to hop on, and found a line of around 150 people waiting to buy tickets to Sintra. (Apparently, this is always the case, as Sintra is a UNESCO world heritage site and a frequent stop for tourists.) In hindsight, we should’ve gotten to the station early in the morning, which would have helped us to avoid the crowds. Still, after a 30 min wait, we got our inexpensive tickets and boarded the train 15 minutes before it departed. It was PACKED; I had to stand the whole trip.

It’s about a 40 minute ride to Sintra, which is the last stop on the train line. You’ll know when you’re there because every other passenger will get off the train with you. If you can, try to sit near the front of the train, as you have to scan your ticket to leave the station at Sintra, and the que was pretty long and hectic.

Once you get out of the station, you will be bombarded by tuk tuks and tour guides, asking if you want to do a guided tour. We opted not to. Instead, we walked 5 minutes and had coffee and lunch at Saudade, which is a cafe dating back to the 1800s and, quite possibly, the sweetest place I ever did see. We ate pastries and galao, which is a Portugese latte, and ordered delicious sandwiches to pack away for our day, which were only a couple dollars each. I could have sat there all day, and it was surprisingly peaceful.

After that, we hopped in our first Uber of the day and headed to Quinta de Regaleira. It’s a private estate turned park, complete with secret grottos, mossy caves, waterfalls, tiny castles, chapels, fountains, and more charm than you’ve ever seen. It’s like stepping into a fairytale, which is what everyone told us about Sintra, and they were right. We bought our tickets at the entrance and got in quickly.

It took us all of 5 minutes to realize that we’d made a really grave mistake in only spending one day in Sintra. The truth is, we could’ve spent one day at any of the attractions we visited in Sintra (Quinta la Regaleira, Pena Palace, the village), and we still would have missed most of what the town has to offer. I don’t think we’ve ever visited a place and left so certain that we must return. Sona has been plotting our romantic getaway to Sintra since the second we got on the train back to Lisbon.

But, back to the gardens, they were MAJESTIC, and it’s a great place for kids. You just wander and wander, finding secret spots and hidden tunnels, as there isn’t a linear pathway through the grounds. We spent a couple of hours and didn’t see half of it, but we left, regrettably, because we knew we wanted to see Pena Palace, which was our next stop.

We got another Uber to Pena, but we realized we should’ve gone there first, as may of the attractions are along a 16-mile, one-way loop, and we ended up having to go back around the entire circle just to get to Pena. Still, it was a beautiful drive.

Folks had warned us that, to get to Pena, you’d have to drive up a very steep hill (re: mountain). Then, once you get through the gates, we’d have to walk and even steeper hill, which takes about 15 minutes, to access the palace. I was a little worried about that trek, as I’m not the most fit person on the planet, and I was prepared to pay any amount of money to get a tram or a tuktuk up to the top. However, after entering the gates (tip: purchase your Pena Palace tickets online the night before to avoid lines), Sona convinced me to make a go of it, and we did.

A lot of sweating and complaining and heavy breathing later, we made it to the top. Finn ran the whole way, of course, and didn’t bat an eye. When the trees cleared and we saw what awaited us–a brightly colored, ornate palace that rivals the stuff of dreams–we knew the walk had been worth it.

This is where I am totally honest with you and admit that, although our day in Sintra was magical, Finn struggled quite a bit. It was our last day of vacation. He was tired. We had to forgo nap to do the day trip, and he wasn’t in the best spirits. So, while we were surrounded by some of the most beautiful vistas we’d ever seen, we spent a lot of time bribing our cranky threenager with Jolly Ranchers just to get him through the day. By the time we got to the palace, he was on the verge of a breakdown, and it did get in the way of our enjoying it as much as we should’ve. One of the many reasons we want to go back.

Still, we drug him along, Jolly Ranchers as bait, and made our best efforts to experience as much of the palace as possible. Like the gardens earlier, it was painfully clear that we’d only be able to scrape the surface, as it was already early evening, and we had to get the train back to Lisbon before nightfall.

What can I say about Pena Palace that will make you understand how breathtakingly beautiful and surreal it was? Probably nothing. Instead, I’ll just post a bunch of pictures and implore you to get yourself to Sintra–maybe without a tired 3 year old–as quickly as possible.

We’d intended to make it to the historic village and wander through the little town, but time didn’t allow for it. We were pretty bummed that the day slipped away so quickly, and that we’d have to miss the town, but that is just more motivation to make it back there again–and soon.

In the meantime, here are some photos, which don’t even begin to tell the full story of that wonderful, wander-full place.

Trip Report: Lisbon, Portugal

10 / 25 / 1810 / 25 / 18

After a week in Alvor, we hopped on the train from Portimao to Lisbon, which takes 3-4 hours and has one quick transfer (which, admittedly, was a bit stressful with all of our heavy luggage and the kiddos). The train ride itself was actually really restful, and the trains in Portugal were, like much of Europe, clean, quick, and reliable.

We got to Lisbon at around noon on a Saturday, and our AirBnB host messaged us to let us know that our apartment was ready early, which was a relief, as Finn was more than ready for a nap, as were we all. We had to leave Alvor pretty early, and we were exhausted.

We checked into what is likely the most kid-friendly, well-run AirBnB in the world, which was right on the border of both the Chiado and Barrio Alto neighborhoods of Lisbon; it ended up being the perfect location, despite the fact that we were on the 3rd floor of a very narrow and steep walk-up.

In Lisbon, we had a relatively short list of must-sees (and a relatively long list of must-eats). By then, it was clear that Finn was struggling a bit with the time change and the schedule shift. So, we really wanted to make it easy for ourselves. Our daily plans went something like this: get up, eat pastries, wander, eat snacks, wander, take a nap, wander, eat dinner, eat gelato. To be honest, that’s pretty much the perfect itinerary with kiddos, as the more rigid the schedule and the more you try to pack in, the more likely everyone is going to be cranky.

As it turned out, we were within easy walking distance of a lot of the restaurants we wanted to try and places we wanted to see and, when we needed to venture a bit further, Ubers were plentiful. Just like in Alvor, we relied on them at least a couple of times a day, especially since walking in Lisbon is a bit tricky. It’s known as the “city of seven hills”–and with good reason. It’s like San Francisco on steroids. There are steep hills, staircases with 500+ stairs, very small cobblestone sidewalks (which are slippery, btw), and windy streets everywhere. Whereas Portugal was one of the most kid-friendly places we’ve been, Lisbon is probably the least stroller-friendly city on the planet. Luckily, Finn is a great walker, and Sona wore Elias everywhere in the Ergo.

But as promised, Lisbon–and the whole country–were extremely kid/baby-friendly. If you have a little one, you get to go to the front of the line pretty much anywhere: grocery stores, security lines at airports, museums, etc. And every restaurant we went to–no matter how nice–had families with small children. It just seemed to be a non-issue, which was really nice.

Lisbon is a photographer’s dream and, thusly, I fell in love. It reminded us a lot of Barcelona, which is our other favorite city in the world. It’s old and new–weathered and immaculately beautiful. There’s colorful tile and stucco and charm around every single corner, and each neighborhood has it’s own personality.

It’s also a fantastic city to eat in. The restaurants and cafes and bakeries are plentiful, as are the food halls. We loved grabbing small bites and heading outside to eat in a park or on a bench somewhere. Finn loved the french fries and all of the walking and the trolleys and the tuk tuk and the GELATO–good lord, the gelato. Plus, wine is CHEAP.

Sona and I loved Lisbon so much–and Sintra, which I’ll post about next–that we’re already plotting a return visit. In the meantime, here’s some photos from our time in the city, along with some recommendations.

Our Lisbon Faves and Recommendations:

early in your visit, take a tuk tuk tour with Tuk Tuk Tiejo
visit the LX Factory on one of their outdoor market days
look at the trolleys, but avoid riding them–they are SO busy
visit the TimeOut Market, but try to go during off-hours
go see the Tower of Belem and get the famous custard tarts at Pasteis de Belem
eat at Oficio and Bairro de Avillez and Tartine
get the AYCE tapas at Bairrices; save room for dessert
get gelato at Santini and Sorbettino (we preferred the latter)
Get lunch at Campo de Ourique market and eat it at Jardim da Estrela
explore Barrio Alto (during the day with kids and at night with adults)
get lost in Alfama (but bring your walking shoes)

(I should also note that Lisbon has a lot of more kid-centric stuff to do, including the best aquarium in Europe and a great zoo. However, since we live in Chicago and have access to that stuff all of the time, we try to use vacations as an opportunity to do some things we don’t get to do at home. So, for this trip, we didn’t hit up those spots, but they come highly recommended.)