by Sarah Naimark Whether it’s a mani in Miami or a facial in Philadelphia, PrettyCity.com is your guide to all things gorgeous. Think of this website as your best friend who’s been there done that, and wants to let you in on what she’s learned. That’s pretty impressive. Whether it’s a mani in Miami or…
by Sarah Naimark Packing is an art. Being fully outfitted for the wrong kind of trip can be just about as fun as a wool turtleneck on the summer beach. It used to be that a travel toothbrush and your contact solution were all you thought you needed, but welcome to the world of traveling…
by Sarah Naimark Throughout 2006, Salzburg plays host to a festival celebrating the birth of its most famous citizen,— with the exception the Von Trapp clan, of course—Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. This marathon fete includes lengthy concerts, walking tours and masses designed pay homage to the genius composer who was born and trained in the small…
by Sarah Naimark It was a painfully cold afternoon in Val Gardena, an Alpine border town where it’s hard to tell the Italians from the neighboring Austrians. The Dolomite mountains are mammoth, with rounded peaks and patches of snow, as different from one another as faces; they appear close enough to touch. It looks like…
by Sarah Naimark From the window, Zagreb appeared dreary and blurred. Our train lugged itself through a dingy urban strip into the station and I grimaced: ten minutes ahead of schedule. I nudged Anna, my younger sister and champion sleeper, to wake her after the long trip. She frowned and stretched. Ugh, I thought. Even…
by Sarah Naimark The unexpected is something we can forget to love. The secure ritual of daily life in consistent surroundings provides a warm familiarity that can be hard to cast off. This, interestingly enough, extends to our travel selves as well. We seek what we know, or at least what we can envision, chasing…
by Sarah Naimark I might as well be driving the tiny motorboat through the tangerine sunset itself, the way the water reflects the vibrant sky. I stick my hand into the warm sea to reassure my senses that I am not, in fact, putt-putting in heaven, but rather into the island of Hvar. The ripples…