Nearly six months have gone by and I still haven’t posted photos of London or Paris. Shame on me. Does it count that the photo above of our feet was taken in London?

I have a feeling that I haven’t because it’s too painful, because it’s a reminder at the latest time in my life when everything felt ok, even if it was just for two weeks. The hustle and bustle of Portobello Road on a Saturday morning, the mulled cider I thought I could drink fully, the anticipation of watching Celebrity Big Brother after a day exploring a city that feels like a second home - all those wonderful memories stirring in my mind again would do more harm than good, and to be frank, I can’t afford that right now.

There are wonderful experiences and important people that I miss and an emotional outburst would not end well, let me tell you.

So I’m keeping my swirling visions of the underground and the patisseries private just for a little bit longer.

And while I have more material to accumulate in this humble space than just my travels, there is a road block preventing me from sharing it all. Perhaps it’s all too raw, or blurry. The thoughts in my head loop around like long strands of DNA and separating them from each other can be quite the challenge. It seems these are all tasks which require concentration and energy, two things I’m running low on.

the sounds of silence prevail, at least for now.

When I traveled to London, Dublin and Paris earlier this year, taking photos of people actually reading newspapers became sort of an obsession for me. As a young journalist who was thrust out of school a little over three years ago into a melting media market that bled jobs daily, life became uncertain and depressing and well, worrisome.

I felt as though the dreams I had been building upon since middle school of becoming a writer were falling through the cracks - and that I would never get them back. I never could be a Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times, writing about worldly problems and changing the world in the process. I could never be a Ben Badikian, an editor at the Washington Post who came into possession of The Pentagon Papers. I would never be in that atmosphere. That excitement, that time.

I could never write for the Los Angeles Times or Atlantic Monthly or the dozen other publications which I cherished more than life itself.

And while now, I have resolved my fear and am more in the “I can” rather than the “I can’t” box, the possibility of not fulfilling my passions is still a frightening concept. I know I have what it takes to write for the L.A. Times and the NY Times and whatever else. I just know it. It’s the one thing in my life that I am completely, 100 percent sure of. When I get there, I don’t know. But I will get there.

In the meantime, I found comfort knowing that there were still people who actually read newspapers, even if it was overseas. There are papers everywhere you go in London. On the tube, in cafes, on the street - it’s really a reading culture, and as someone from Los Angeles which suffers more from a “tv culture,” it made me feel at home.

The world of media is changing right in front of our eyes and it’s amazing to be in the middle of this revolution. I am excited to see what the future holds for journalism, but for now, I revel in the fact that somewhere in the world, someone cares.

The following are excerpts and photos from my travel journal about time spent in Dublin, January 2010.

Dublin - 10 a.m.

We just arrived and I am already loving it. It’s green everywhere and all the buildings are brick red. The weather is nippy, but absolutely perfect. It is the most quaint town I think I’ve ever been in.

We’re sitting in Butler’s Chocolate cafe, the Irish equivalent of See’s Candies. The town is just waking up, going to school, to work, to start life.

As for me, I feel like I’m cheating life at the moment because my only worry is checking into our hotel in a few hours.

London was freezing compared to Dublin. This seems like a perfect blend of a metropolitan city and a small community.

I love hearing Irish people talk and I also love how all the street signs are also written in Gaelic.

This is  a writer friendly town, with homages to James Joyce and Oscar Wilde and more.  Somewhere were writing is not only respected but praised and admired.  As far as I can tell, Dublin is a  great city to foster creativity.

Ah yes, they also read newspapers. I already love it.

12 p.m. Dublin Writer’s Museum

1 p.m. Francis Bacon exhibition - Dublin City Gallery

I like old women who come to museums in the middle of the afternoon in a large group. The Francis Bacon exhibition moved me. He was an amazing talent and I feel lucky to have seen it in such an amazing city.

In the gallery café, I had creme of mushroom soup and the famous Irish soda bread. A woman dropped a five euro on the ground and I had K tap her shoulder and let her know.

She was grateful.

8 p.m. Man Utd vs Manchester City game at the International Bar. A big cauldron of soup sits in a corner, and people are slowly piling in this comfortable, yet dark space. I order a Guiness, my first ever.

I hate beer, but in the spirit of Dublin, I decide to try it. It was smooth and light and glided down my throat like water. Drink. Watch. Cheer.

I felt so happy. Do you know how that feels, to be truly happy? I felt it.

Gráím thú, Dublin.

If there was a way to lay out the thoughts in my head in a straight line, they would circle the globe three times over. That was before I took my trip to Europe, and now that I’m back - it’s ten times worse. I hope to update with photos, observations, revelations and more, but suffice it to say that I had such an amazing time that I considered canceling my flight and now, three days later I still can’t get London, Paris and Dublin out of my head.

In three weeks I’ll be heading to London, a city I adore as much as Los Angeles. The cobblestone roads and old buildings along with the hustle and bustle of the tube among other things appeal to me in ways that I can’t accurately describe in words. The grey skies are beautiful, the people are polite and contrary to popular belief, British cuisine is not only diverse, but delicious. My love of London travels beyond the architecture and food however because my boyfriend happens to live there.

To cut a long story short, you have stumbled upon the blog of someone who is in a long distance relationship. If you have about six hours to devote to a conversation over a cup of tea ( and finger sandwiches of course) I can explain the mechanics to you, but for now I’d rather not go off on a tangent more than I have to.

Though we’ve traveled to other locales for some time to ourselves, London feels to me what I hope Los Angeles somewhat feels like for him: home.

Some of my fondest memories of us - eating a refreshing breakfast as cars whiz by at Le Pain Quotidien, discovering the amazing treasures that encompass Portobello Market and even watching some of my favorite British shows - “Come Dine with Me” and Heston Blumenthal’s fascinating gastronomical creations - have happened in the midst of this quaint, yet bustling city with a steady and soulful pulse.

In an effort to get myself in the habit of writing here more frequently and openly, I’m hoping to be taking a lot of photos, perhaps even some video and sending “Postcards from London” if you will. I haven’t really given too much thought about what I want to do and see, although there might be a trip to Dublin wedged in there somewhere which I’m very excited about.

I saved a fun “places to visit” video of London quite a while ago, so perhaps I might visit some of sites mentioned here:

First, it was “Vicky Cristina Barcelona.” Then the insatiable sounds of Paco de Lucia. Then, it was the slew of books on Catalonia that caught by eye today at Barnes & Noble. I don’t know what it is, but it seems like Barcelona has been calling out my name for a few weeks. Of course, I can understand why - It wasn’t only where I officially met my boyfriend some 6 years ago, it was also the first destination on my traveling agenda since I made an official “places to go” list in high school.

by moriza

It’s a gorgeous, vibrant city that’s full of life, even at 2 a.m. where the streets are still bustling with people enjoying a stroll or having sangria at their favorite cafe. You feel the passion pumping through its veins, in the buildings, in the people, in the food. I loved it there, so it wasn’t a surprise when we both decided to visit again a few years later.

Though we stayed at a hotel the first time around, we decided to go the more authentic route and rent an apartment for almost two weeks the second time. It was tucked away on an ancient street, up a few flights of stairs, with the most vintage looking door lock I had ever seen, but it was gorgeous - perfect for a young couple.

by alexcastella

We saw the Sagrada Familia by Gaudi, spent time at the Barcelona Zoo, had breakfast at Bracafe on Ronda Sant Antoni, had lunch at Ovni, shopped at Bershka and went online at Bornet.

I remember La Rambla and little white bunnies being sold, street performers and content tourists. At the end of La Rambla, near Port Vell - the Christopher Columbus monument and a swap meet that we would never forget, full of the kind of ancient knick knacks you could only dream of finding in the States.  I remember sitting by the coast, with a bag of sweets from the Mercat La Boqueria (below) enough for two to share.

by uriba

It was full of the kind of candy assortment I loved - sour belts, gummy worms, everything that’s so bad it’s good. I placed the bag between us, and chewed away at a worm while watching the water sway back and forth, as if it was dancing to Spanish guitar music. He reached down in the bag and pulled out a gummy heart. I held one end and he held the other as it split down the middle, a piece for each. We didn’t need to talk. We just sat there together, eating, occasionally puckering up at the jolt of flavor from the sour belts. We were just being, and it was nice.

by brokurdotnet

I can’t describe the type of gravitational pull Barcelona has. It only makes sense to say that it changes you, it lets you breathe and let go of “rush, rush, rush” mentality that we’re so used to in the U.S and especially in Los Angeles. “Just relax, just live and let live,” Barcelona says. “Stay up till 2 a.m, here - have some sangria while you’re at it, be creative and most of all, love your life.”

Of course, Barcelona, like any city doesn’t remain unscathed from criticism. It gets hot and humid - a disaster scenario for the hair of most women. It has its seedy parts and part of the reason why I don’t have any of my own photos for this post is because our camera was stolen while we were browsing in an internet cafe.

I haven’t experienced quite the same feeling of being in Barcelona elsewhere. It’s different. It lets your mind flourish - perfect for a writer or artist. It allows you to stop and really absorb all that’s going on around you, and that’s a quality that I will forever appreciate in this city.

by aikijuanma

Four hundred miles north of  Los Angeles sits the city by the bay known as San Francisco -  the city that steals your heart, makes it impossible for you to leave and is everything that L.A should strive to be. Lovely weather, culturally diverse residents and breathtaking houses and architecture make me now firmly believe that the high cost of living is worth it. There is so much character to this place; the buildings, the quaintness of it all, the idea of an orderly and efficient public transportation system ( who would’ve thought?)

How can I forget the cable cars, the world’s last permanently operational manually-operated cable car system. I had never been in one before and it was clear by the slow service and $5 one-way ride fare that it’s of no use to residents of San Francisco.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned how much I love picking out salt water taffy for a custom made bag. It’s such a relaxing, yet exciting activity. Now more than ever, there are so many flavors, that choosing them is so difficult. Caramel apple, cherry cola, gingerbread, tangerine, the list just goes on and on.

San Francisco has the oldest and largest Chinatown in North America. Indeed, it’s brilliant. L.A’s chinatown completely pales in comparison. New York’s Chinatown gives it a run for its money, but still this is an amazing place where you can find all the knick knacks you never knew you wanted, have dim sum at a nearby restaurant  and listen to the sounds of an erhu while you walk through the streets.

Of course, like any city, San Francisco isn’t without its problems, with homelessness and property crime rates higher than the national average, but when you’re in a place called The Palace of the Fine Arts, which looks like it was taken out of Rome and placed in a metropolitan American city and you look across the water and see that there are houses and apartments who wake up to this view every day, and couples walking their dogs along the path and families enjoying a quiet afternoon out, nothing else really matters.

I like San Francisco more than I thought I could. In the short two days I was there, I felt a wave of inspiration that I hadn’t felt in Los Angeles for a long time. I saw myself living and writing there, the only other city besides London that I’ve had that thought about it, and what a nice though it was. I saw that I could actually “get on” with San Francisco, as the British would say. It seems like the perfect blend of the goodness of Los Angeles and London put into one. It was actually pretty depressing to come back to L.A and realize that I had to face freeways and such a sprawling city landscape after a weekend in such a compact city. San Francisco felt like a city of great endeavors, a city where ideas were born and plans came to fruition. On a hilly street in the afternoon, overlooking a crowded Fisherman’s Wharf, where hundreds of thousands had come to watch fireworks,  I looked around and felt like I belonged.

More photos here.

London’s Sagar restaurant offers authentic Indian cuisine that will in many ways, make you feel you could be just minutes away from the Taj Mahal, while also managing to make your mouth water. The entire menu is also vegetarian, which is great for someone like me or a nice change of pace from meat drenched menus of other restaurants. Sagar, meaning “sea” in Hindi, is located nearby Tottenham Court Road, although they also have a branch in Hammersmith. It is one of the only restaurants in London to serve Udupi cuisine, which is the world renowned cuisine of South India. It’s not particularly flashy or overwhelming, but manages to stay simple while combining traditional and modern elements, all the way down to the decor of wooden tables with brass statues that grace the walls.

Although we were hungry, we had one appetizer to share, which was probably a good decision, considering the size of the dish. Unfortunately, I was so excited about the food, I forgot about looking at the menu to see what exactly it was that I had eaten, so I could keep it for future reference. I must point out that this forgetful trait I have during moments of awesome food, clothes, shoes or otherwise happens often. I’m going to say that it was more or less like a falafel, only it tasted much better. It was a great combination of different beans and vegetables and the deep fried shell made it tread into heaven territory. It also came with a fabulous coconut chutney that I could have drank on its own.

We both ordered dosa dishes, with some kind of vegetable concoction inside, I believe mine was aloo (potato) masala. It doesn’t really matter that I can’t remember, but all you need to know is that it was delicious. It came with that amazing coconut chutney and we ordered some cucumber yogurt on the side.

That yogurt came in handy because my dosa was especially spicy. The server warned me before he took my order but I thought it would be easy to handle. Note: Watching Bollywood does not make you immune to hot Indian spices. Trust me, I learned the hard way.

As you can see by our dishes above, we enjoyed the food (and the drinks!) very much. The food was great, the service was good, but there was something that we couldn’t put our fingers on that kept us from being able to fully enjoy Sagar that cold Saturday night in London. I guess the only way to describe it was the atmosphere. To the left of us we had a group of about six hip and trendy 20-somethings, who by the way, couldn’t all arrive at the same time, so every 20 minutes or so, one would show up and greet the others before sitting down. This didn’t help the fact that all the tables were EXTREMELY close to each other. If they were any closer, I would have been able to see other people’s nose hairs. That group was nothing compared to the over zealous and obnoxious German tourists who insisted not only on talking loudly and putting a plate they weren’t using on our table when we weren’t looking, but standing up and taking professional photos with a camera that probably cost well over $700. Needless to say that it was annoying and as I pointed out in my last post about Akari, the atmosphere of a restaurant is at times perhaps a bigger deal than the food.

Sagar
17a Percy Street
London
W1T 1DU
020 7631 3319

Smart restauranteurs always know there is more to opening an eatery than just the food. In an age where those simple moments where you’re able to breathe and (gasp) relax are coveted, the atmosphere of where you do the most sacred of daily tasks - eat, is so important.  Japanese restaurant Akari,located in the London borough of Islington, is the type of place where you can breathe.

Its inconspicuous location, low lighting and friendly wait staff make you feel like you’re a world away from the hustle and bustle of the city outside.

When you walk into Akari, the first thing you notice are their homey, rustic wooden tables and how the patrons at them are completely involved in their own conversations enough to not even look up when the servers put food down. I told you this place is relaxing - filled with enough talk to mask the sound of silence, but not enough to mask the talk at your own table.

When we arrived, it looked like most of the tables had been reserved for different parties. We inquired if they had room, and they graciously opened up a reserved table for us, as the other party wasn’t expected until about two hours later.

After the staple order of edamame and two glasses of pomegranate tea, which I have to say, was so delicious, it was time for some food.

Cue in the vegetable rolls and deliciously warm Udon buckwheat noodle soup. As you can (kind of) see below through the lens of my iPhone camera, the rolls are put together so delicately. The seaweed was so fresh and soft and the shape of the roll made it perfect for dipping into some soy sauce. The soup came with its own little saucer full of spices that you could mix in the bowl to your heart’s content. At first, I didn’t mix it well enough, so I got a mouthful of spices that needed to be washed down IMMEDIATELY before I choked.

After the Udon completely warmed our souls, it was time for dessert.

I wish I could remember the name of this heavenly concoction above, but it slips my mind. It was like a sticky soy pudding, with a delicious glaze on top. I have to admit that I couldn’t finish this dessert, which is a rare occurrence for the likes of me, but it got a little too rich by the end.

We capped off the night with some traditional green tea. If you noticed a difference between this last photo and the ones before, it’s because we were so involved in the ambiance of the place, that we didn’t even remember that we had an actual camera with us until the very end. Akari restaurant gets high marks on all fronts: it is a charming, authentic Japanese restaurant with great food, good service and an atmosphere that’s missing from a lot of restaurants. By the time you get up to go home, you’ll realize you’ve spent about two to three hours there. You probably will be well-fed and happy enough to not care.

Price: Quite reasonable. Except to pay around £25-30, obviously more if you decide to indulge in the extensive drink menu.

Interesting tidbit: Akari’s location was formerly occupied by a pub named Three Brewers.

Akari Restaurant
196 Essex Rd
London, N1 8LZ, United Kingdom
+44 20 72269943

Los Angeles is a raw town. It’s an open wound. It can chew you up and spit you out or put you in its lap and pat you on the back all in a matter of weeks or even days. There is no rhythm to this sprawling city of concrete jungles and imported palm trees. There’s only one thing you can be sure of: traffic.

It’s unique in its ways, which is probably part of the reason why people either love it or hate it. I have not yet met anyone who has ever had lukewarm feelings about L.A. It’s always “L.A is just amazing!” or “I don’t care how amazing it is, I will never spend that much time in a car.” I understand, believe me I do. I ponder that thought on a daily basis.

If by some fluke, my parents hadn’t decided to move to Los Angeles, I would have probably hated it too. But then again, it was either L.A or staying in a post-revolution Iran. I will thank my lucky stars that they chose the former.

Either way, L.A does not have a rhythm. It’s more random than rhythm, that’s for sure. Because of Hollywood, because of the eclectic nature of industries and jobs, there is no beginning and end to a day spent here. There is no “I’ll be there on time,” or “I will be home for dinner.” There is no day of rest, no pity from the blazing sun, there is no certainty.

Los Angeles doesn’t operate like other cities. Especially not like the city of London. In London, everything is defined by a rhythm. Tube arrives on time, please mind the gap, you will be at your destination of choice. This is as certain as the fact that it will be an overcast day. Tea time at 4 p.m. , overcrowded bars after 5 p.m., Gems TV rebroadcast from 7 to 9 p.m. (don’t ask),  stores closed by  9 p.m., The Evening Standard being sold in tube stations,  in bed by  midnight to do it all over again.

It’s nice to have that feeling of security.

Do not misunderstand me.  Because of my attachments to the City of Angels, I could never really insult her and I secretly cringe when someone does. It’s just that living in Los Angeles makes you feel that sometimes, the rest of the world does not exist. You gain a sense of entitlement and think there must be few places in the world as good as this. This place where you have everything available to you at the drop of a hat. It’s amazing how there is an entire world out there that’s just waiting for you to explore.

London is the only place other than Los Angeles that I have actually wanted to live. I mean, really live. When I was younger, I dreamt about moving to New York and though I’ve been there a handful of times, it never really felt like “home” to me. Unless it was somewhere like Brooklyn or Long Island, I couldn’t imagine myself living that entangled in a metropolitan city. This is probably a reason why I have never had the urge to move somewhere in Los Angeles like West Hollywood or the up and coming neighborhoods of Downtown.

London feels different. Maybe that’s because my boyfriend lives there and it already feels familiar, maybe it’s the people, the food, the neighborhoods, but after a week there, I had gotten so comfortable with it that when I thought of the idea of getting in my car to drive to work (gasp) I really felt nauseous.

The thought of arriving somewhere in less than 15 minutes and usually on time is astounding, especially to a native Los Angeleno. Public transportation is an awe and enigma to me. After a one week taste, I am thoroughly enamored by it.

When I first got to London, with all its quaint architecture, funny pub names and narrow streets, it looked like a set that belonged in Disneyland. I thought any minute now the view in the distance would be just a backdrop when I got closer. But the view didn’t fade, and the dainty black cabs whizzed by, right after the red double decker buses slowly made their way down the avenues.

With its long list of street markets, ability to get many places on foot and general rhythm, you are constantly exposed to people all day long. This is a far cry from life in Los Angeles, where even at work I interact with people through instant messenger when they are sitting right next to me and the extent of my involvement I have with people doesn’t come any closer than the bumper in front of me on the freeway.

It’s expensive and crowded, yes, but it is so much more. Do you know how amazing it is to see and interact with  people from other countries? But Los Angeles is one of the most diverse places in the U.S you say. Yes, this is true, but do you know how exciting it it to see people who say they are German who are ACTUALLY from Germany? Or to hear people speak Polish and Greek and Nigerian? It is absolutely thrilling for me to see young people whose native languages are not English, who have not been jaded and swept up in Western fever to the point where they are no different from teenagers in the U.S. It’s pretty damn exciting, let me tell you.

London has a heart beat. A big blood red heartbeat. We were walking in Covent Garden Market on my last day there when I saw a man with a guitar in the middle of the market singing a beautiful rendition of one of my favorite songs, “Wild World” by Cat Stevens. At that moment, no other song sounded appropriate and excuse the pun, but it really struck a chord in me. Yes,  It’s hard to get by just upon a smile. There’s a lot of bad and we should be aware. But to see new places, to not take opportunities and risk, to not see what else is out there would be a disservice to yourself. As I boarded the plane out of Heathrow, dreading a 10 hour flight home, my insides tangling up at the thought of it being months before I see him again, there was a Mark Twain quote that I remembered.

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

It’s true.