As we prep for our Miami trip with a wish list ten hotels strong, we’re reminded of our preferred approach to travel. We’ve been on tours with frighteningly fast-paced schedules, 8am bus call times, and agendas more ambitious than the UN General Assembly. But at the end of the day (and years later) we remember one, maybe two stunning stops from that day. The Coliseum in Rome, the Gallery of the Uffizi, the delicious risotto at La Giostra. And thus all of the rushing, the photo stops, the picturesque drives, the 4th and 5th Basilicas – these all have evaporated.
When we travel, we edit. We’re not about quantity, we’re not about exhaustion. Whether we have three days in a city or two weeks, our approach is the same. Marinate as deeply as we can in the things that excite us the most. We’ve sunk afternoons sipping lemonade poolside or on city rooftops, we’ve slept all day and slipped from lounge to lounge all night. We indulge our interests unapologetically (“You went to Florence and you didn’t see David!” Answer: “Saw it ten years ago. Done.”) and nod to culture when it suits our taste (We can’t go to London without a stop at the Tate Modern).
It’s this self-editing, this absorption of the routine along with the irreverant, that makes us excited about travel. We’re as voraciously addicted to design as they come, and nothing makes our heart race like consuming a new hotel, a new poolside lounge, a new gallery, or turn at chocolate ice cream. We’re in it for the culture and city beat, the throbbing center of inspiration for all the Davids and Michaelangelos we haven’t seen.
