Called the Avenue Verte, it already includes views like this in the finished sections:

Here’s how the writer described the French side:

Towards Paris, you travel for a number of miles along the wooded banks of the Seine, long stretches of which look as though they have changed little since Monet and Renoir captured the green-tinged reflections of the water more than a century ago. Then, after a stretch of industrial hinterland, the route follows canal towpaths to within a stone’s throw of its end-point – Notre Dame cathedral.

More on the British side after the jump.

He also calls out his fellow Brits for not rising to the challenge of converting their side:

The French have converted the railways into broad, hard-surfaced tracks, suitable for rollerbladers and wheelchairs as well as cyclists. They have also kept control of vegetation around the path, so that for the most part the surrounding countryside can be seen and enjoyed.

On the British side the paths are so overgrown that they resemble tunnels, providing barely a glimpse of the world outside. Mile after mile, this becomes monotonous.

One of my favorite things about Europe is how their leaders are willing to invest in plans like these. They might seem far-fetched and expensive, but they will benefit generations, never mind tourists.

Check out the videos he took while on the trails, and see what you think. Oh, and you can watch video of my own bike-based daily commute while I was in the Netherlands this summer.

Infrastructure = heaven.

Something about fall makes me want to be surrounded by piles of beautiful books. Books are the best way to dream about places to visit, aren’t they?

My fall list includes re-reading Alledaags, which I bought in the Netherlands this summer. It’s written by a Kiwi illustrator who put an image to each day of a year in Amsterdam. Check out the samples. It’s funny, clever, and true. What could be better?

The rest of my fall reading list after the jump.

I’ve already written about how much I love the work of Alain de Botton, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I went to the bookstore last night, after I found out yesterday that he had a new book.

I’ve already finished half of A Week at the Airport, a slim 100-page treatise at being the writer-in-residence at Heathrow’s new Terminal 5. Yes, seriously.

De Botton is the single best observer of the nuances of travel living today. Period. Whereas most writers fall into cutesy traps (example A here), his perspective is more philosophical and melancholy–more like what it can actually be like to travel.

Some favorite passages.

On the airport Sofitel:

After dinner, it was still warm and not yet quite dark outside. I would have liked to take a walk around one of the few fields that remained of the farmland on which the airport had been built some six decades before, but it seemed at once perilous and impossible to leave the building, so I decided to do a few circuits around the hotel corridors instead. Feeling disoriented and queasy, as if I were on a cruise ship in a swell, I repeatedly had to steady myself against the synthetic walls.

More cheerily, on the departures board:

Nowhere was the airport’s charm more concentrated than on the screens placed at intervals across the terminal which announced, in deliberately workmanlike fonts, the itineraries of aircraft about to take to the skies. These screens implied a feeling of infinite and immediate possibility: they suggested the ease with which we might impulsively approach a ticket desk and, within a few hours, embark for a country where the call to prayer rang out over shuttered whitewashed houses, where we understood nothing of the language and where no one knew our identities. The lack of detail about the destinations served only to stir unfocused images of nostalgia and longing: Tel Aviv, Tripoli, St Petersburg, Miami, Muscat via Abu Dhabi, Algiers, Grand Cayman via Nassau…all of these promises of alternative lives, to which we might appeal at moments of claustrophobia and stagnation.

Can’t wait to read the rest.

I’m doing a lot of heavy-duty reading for work, so the other two books on my list are really picture books, to give my brain some breathing space: The Japanese Gardens: Kyoto, because I am obsessed with getting there, hopefully next year, and a book still in its pleasing plastic wrapper, Thirty-Six Views of the Eiffel Tower.

A few samples from it are here.

One sample–with a pinkish coloration it doesn’t have in real life–is here:

copyright antimuseum.online.fr

Admittedly, it’s a hard sell for those of us who don’t have a year to spend traveling around the world. A friend I talked to today had an itinerary that involved one day in Paris, two days in London, and two days in Scotland. There’s not a lot of breathing room in that plan for an afternoon spent in a swimsuit.

But here’s why it’s a good idea, and not just if you’re the kind of person who enjoys Hawaii. A trip to the beach in Europe is just as valid a sightseeing day as one spent at a museum. And if you need more rationale, here are five solid reasons:

1. Because if you ever went to the beach as a kid, this beach trip will be nothing like that.

Whenever I’ve visited a European beach, my novelty-meter is completely full by the time I leave. As a kid, I spent time in Ocean City, New Jersey, where boardwalks and hoagies were the big deal of the day.

It’s a little different to spend time on La Grand Plage of Biarritz, France, where elegant striped cabanas line the sidewalk:  

When I first saw them, I thought: These people know how to live. It just seemed so…James Bond-y, circa 1966.

2. Because every vacation needs a break in the action.

Personally, I don’t have any interest in taking a cruise. I’m snobby about all-inclusive vacations. I like to strike out on my own, figuring out bus and train schedules, and booking my own hotels.

But let’s be honest: That’s a lot of variables, and a lot of work. Experienced travelers enjoy building in some slack into their itineraries, and I agree with them. Even if it’s an overcast day at the beach, there’s still something interesting to see.

In a few short days, I’ll be on the beachy island of Texel (pronounced “tessel”), part of the same trip that includes a week-long Dutch language immersion at Dutch Princess School. A juxtaposition of intense cultural experience and laid-back beachtime seems like a nice balance. Plus, the cultural exchange doesn’t stop just because it’s a beach town: The hotel website offered to reserve bikes for me during my stay. How very, very Dutch.

3. Because the natural world is worth the time as much as the human-made world.

Appreciating natural beauty doesn’t come easy to me. I’m a city girl. But a windswept coastline with a rickety bridge is a charming, memorable site. I didn’t need the explanation to enjoy it, or to know the connection to the Eiffel Tower.

Living in the Pacific Northwest, I’ve had to adjust my idea of what a beach day is. Oftentimes, it doesn’t involve baking in the sun, but appreciating grey skies like the kind you see above, or in this photo I took in Mull, Scotland, as incredible to me as any cathedral or medieval castle I’ve ever been to.

4. Because you might be there for Bastille Day or another happenstance celebration–the kind where everyone else is on vacation, too.

I love museums, and have done the art slog, trying to scrape 10 hours out of quality art absorption out of a timed all-day pass. On my last visit to Versailles–number three, mind you, which might have taught me a lesson about the sheer size of the estate–a sightseeing stroll turned into a full-on death march in 90 degree heat.

In Biarritz, I was lucky enough to be there for Bastille Day. Everyone around me was enjoying the fireworks and the time off work. It was cheerful in the way that national holidays, summer festivals, and other relaxed, warm-weather nights can be. No one was carrying a map, a guidebook, or an agenda. Instead, an entire town of people settled in to watch the fireworks:

That travel memory means more to me than rooms full of Dutch Masters I saw at the Louvre.

5. Because wherever they are in the world, beaches are some of the most beautiful, fun places on earth.

The hotel might smell of smoke or be too loud for your liking. The lines at the museum might keep you standing in the hot sun for an hour longer than you liked. The other museum you meant to see might be on the far side of town, and closed on Tuesdays. The restaurant might put too much salt on your food, overcharge you, or never bring you that drink you ordered.

But it’s hard to imagine a day like this one (on the Côte des Basques in Biarritz) disappointing anyone.

I had a blast at Paris’ Cimetière du Père Lachaise (with a great interactive tour here), so it didn’t strike me as weird to bust out the photography when at Westwood Village Memorial Park Cemetery, Marilyn Monroe’s final resting place.

The lipstick traces are fun. They reminded me of Oscar Wilde’s grave–also at Père Lachaise–which was covered with kisses when I visited there. (Evidently, to his grandson’s annoyance.)

My great friend Harry showed me around the place, pointing out the markers for Ray Bradbury and Dean Martin.

Harry and I both consider Some Like It Hot one of the best movies ever, so it was interesting to see that most of the cast was not too far from Marilyn, including the director:

In case you can’t make it out, it says “I’m a writer but then nobody’s perfect.” I can say this was the first funny gravestone saying I’d ever seen.

Then I came across Jack Lemmon (another Some Like It Hot) co-star:

On the way out, I was distracted by how this cemetery, unlike Père Lachaise, which is surrounded with somber majesty, was shoehorned in between giant skyscrapers:

There’s something very L.A. about that to me. And speaking of very L.A., how amusing is it that even after death, Ms. Gabor doesn’t reveal her age?

• Books piled high on square wooden tables, just calling out to you to browse.
• An owner on-site, recommending books with careful consideration.
• An enticing front door and window display (and extra points if it’s the perfect shade of red):

Welcome to the Red Wheelbarrow, a little treat of an English-language bookstore in the Marais, my favorite shopping district in Paris. (And yours, too, if your pocketbook skews more to funky finds than haute couture.)

Their website is pretty minimal–a commonality I noticed with Cloud & Leaf in Manzanita (one of the recommended stops on the Oregon Coast), although maybe not as severe. I like the Luddite spirit of these book shops, where the creaky shelves of books feel hand-selected.

During my visit to the store, the owner was trying to track down every last copy of the final Harry Potter book to satiate the demand of the English-speaking populace of Paris. She had enough time, though, to heartily recommend The Invention of Hugo Cabret, which allowed me to revisit Paris via its pages even after I left.

While discussing English-language bookstores in the heart of Paris, it’s also worth mentioning Shakespeare & Company. Personally, I find the best thing about this place is the (formidable) history, not the shopping experience. Every time I’ve been in there, it’s seemed overrun with tourists (of which, of course, I’m one).

Still, as a fan of Djuna Barnes and the other Left Bank writers of the black-and-white era of Paris, I had to make the pilgrimage. My suggestion for if you do buy a book there: Ask them to stamp it. The stamp makes even a cheap paperback seem infused with literary history.

But if you want to seriously browse and find books you didn’t know you needed, stick with the Red Wheelbarrow. And if you want to read the store’s namesake poem by William Carlos Williams, go right ahead.

Betty knows I’m obsessed with train travel, so a photo slideshow on the world’s fanciest train cabins is right up my alley.  I get excited about train stations and virtual train rides, so clearly some tricked-out hooptie of a private train cabin was going to take me to my happy place.

As I flipped through the slides on Travel + Leisure, I was comparison shopping: If I had three to six grand to drop on a trip like this, I thought, which would it be? Paris-Venice wins for destinations, but seems a little dark in the interior.

This line of delusional (but fun) thinking is what made me decide on the tub-on-a-train hookup above. Because, seriously, how crazy-great is that?

Here are the four I’ll be reading this month.

Pagan Spain by Richard Wright

I had never heard of this book, but I was wandering through the remainder bin at Powell’s book store and picked it up. How’s this for an opener?

“In torrid August, 1954, I was under the blue skies of the Midi, just a few hours from the Spanish frontier. To my right stretched the flat, green fields of southern France; to my left lay a sweep of sand beyond which the Mediterranean heaved and sparkled. I was alone. I had no commitments. Seated in my car, I held the steering wheel in my hands.”

The whole sentiment of that opening bit reminds me of a favorite Rufus Wainright song (“one way is Rome and the other way is Mecca / on either side/ on either side of our motorbike”). Listen to the song in this live performance on YouTube:

“When I get back / I will dream in Barnes & Noble.” Yep, that’s the general idea (although hopefully a Powell’s or one of these great bookstores instead).

Creative Spaces: Urban Homes of Artists and Innovators by Francesca Gavin

You know a book is for a certain kind of artsy type when the publisher feels the need to stick a bright yellow sticker on the front over with the actual book title on it. They probably realized that at the printers.

Sometimes, when I daydream about living on a houseboat in Amsterdam, I imagine that it will be filled with flea-market portraits. I’d have the kind of oddly beautiful hallway you find in these kinds of  books.

An example from my future home in London:

Japan’s Cultural Code Words by Boyé De Mente

I’m a little intimidated by this one for a few reasons: no pictures (just being honest, folks), a publisher I’ve never heard of (Tuttle Publishing of Toyko, Singapore…and Rutland, Vermont), and a formidable list of words that seem to mostly be about business ideology. I’ll read at this one for a while and see how I do.

FYI, I picked this up at a Kinokuniya bookstore in Seattle’s own Uwajimaya grocery-store-slash-food-court-slash-kimono-shop. It’s one of my favorite places in the entire city.

I ♥ Your Style by Amanda Brooks

I’m so looking forward to this book. From the outside, it might not look like a travel book, but to me it is for two reasons:

• I don’t buy souvenirs in the traditional sense. No snow globes or shot glasses, please. But I’ll buy a soft surfer-girl T-shirt that reminds me of a day in the sun in Venice, California; a Ted Baker dress at Selfridges to make me feel like Kate Moss; a pair of flats at Maison de Bonneterie in Amsterdam that I’ll wear while riding my Dutch bike at home. I will save all year to be able to buy a treat like this to take home when I travel.
• The fashion icons in this book–having only flipped through it–are often so incredible because they are associated with a certain place. Here are some women profiled in the book as examples:

Peggy Guggenheim = Venice

Early Madonna = NYC

Bardot + Deneuve = Paris, of course  (even down to the berets!)

Once upon a time, I liked the idea of the Travel Dress.

On my first trip to Paris, a black/grey faux-side-tie dress from a “travel clothing company” seemed like a good idea. Even though I would never wear a polyester wrap dress in my daily life, I felt like I needed one for my trip. A dress that touted its wicking properties, could be washed in the sink, and was reversible…even though I never need any of these things at home, and happen to live in a city there, too. Why I thought Parisian hoteliers would recognize–or care about–what I was wearing escapes me still.

In other words, I fell into the dreaded reversible-travel-dress trap.

No. Just...no.

Friends ask me what to buy for a big trip. Lately, I’ve said to buy…nothing.

OK, if you like to to pre-shop for a trip, that’s cool. Knock yourself out with a pair of ballet flats or new jeans or something. But for god’s sake, make sure it’s something you actually like, not just the least-objectionable thing in the travel-clothing catalog.

These days, I travel with my regular, everyday clothes. I have a favorite giant Marc by Marc Jacobs bag that I use as my carry-on purse and the small yellow luggage that makes me happy. I don’t dig through a moneybelt in Paris, just as I wouldn’t dig through one in New York.

I don’t roll my underwear into little burritos to make more room in my luggage. While I can fall prey to a travel gadget or two, when it comes to clothes, I’m off the poly-blend bandwagon. (What was I thinking?) I take things on trips that I love to use.

Worst-case scenario: If I need something urgently in Paris, or London, or anywhere else, I find a store that sells what I need. Often,  in a pinch, can even buy exactly what I would buy here at home at one of the cheap stores I like–at an H&M, Uniqlo, or Topshop. If not, guess what? There are billions of stores in the world, and it’s unlikely any would carry stuff as fugly as the travel dress I might have otherwise gotten stuck with.

Because I ignore a whole raft of  reversible travel wear, I no longer come home with photos of myself in all manner of stuff I would never wear in real life because it’s sold as “travel clothing.”

I’m talking to you, beige, plasticky, tie-front Capri pants.

Environmental Graffiti has a wonderfully curated collection of photos of Paris in the snow. Spring has come early to us on the West Coast, so this seems particularly fanciful and magical to me right now. It’s worth clicking over to see the whole collection.

Or, if you’re the kind of person who hits the “I’m Feeling Lucky” button on Google, why not try searching “Paris” and “snow” on Flickr?

Snowy Paris photos always remind me of the photographer Lee Miller. I can’t find any of her beautiful Paris shots online; everything about her seems to be about her “muse” status, not her own formidable talents as a photographer. (At least Foto8 has a good profile of this book of her work. ) But even in the photo accompanying her wikipedia profile, you can tell she’s a badass.

Hooray.

Now if only international data roaming fees could go away, we’d be in the 21st century of my dreams.

(Hat tip to Swissmiss for pointing this one out to me, since it’s not like I was actually watching the Superbowl.)