We just returned from 5 glorious days of sunshine in Tulum, Mexico. The trip was my husband, Jolian’s, birthday present and a much needed break from rainy New York. Quintana Roo is one of Jolian’s favorite areas to visit with its perfect combination of beautiful beaches and tacos. We ate well, relaxed, and came home
golden brown red and splotchy. It was perfect.
I was also able to spend some much enjoyed time sobbing hysterically over a book, which has become my ritual vacation activity. It always happens. I somehow pick the saddest books to bring with me on our trips. This time it was The Paris Wife by Paula McLain, a novel that tells the story of Hadley and Ernest Hemingway’s marriage and time in Paris from Hadley’s perspective. Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast is one of my favorite books, so I loved reliving that period in his life. The story is so heartbreaking, I was weeping for days. I secretly love a good cry, although it’s really no secret with my shoulder shaking wails. Everyone at the hotel thought I was nuts, including Jolian, but he is used to it by now. In St. Lucia I read The Time Traveler’s Wife. In Maine I read Katharine Hepburn’s memoir Me. I couldn’t talk about that one for two days without tearing up. She couldn’t even go to Spencer Tracy’s funeral. It kills me still. If you too like to spend your free time bawling uncontrollably, I highly recommend The Paris Wife!