A Winter Weekend in Château Rigaud, Bordeaux

Nestled in the rustic yet elegantly rolling countryside of Bordeaux, we recently spent the weekend at Château Rigaud for a family celebration. A retreat that feels both luxurious as it does grounding, the Château is a timeless space where the world slows down, + the beauty of life emerges in every detail. For someone like me, who rarely drinks alcohol — wine included — to venture into a region celebrated for its vineyards may seem a curious step but the weekend was was just as delightfully experienced from my perspective as for those who reaped the rewards of the surrounding lands in each glass of red, white, or Bordeaux Cremant. But Bordeaux isn’t just about the wine for those seeking something profoundly beautiful; it’s deeper than that, it’s a feeling, a connection to the earth, + the quiet elegance, I cherish so much, of a life well-lived.

Arriving at the château, it embraces you with immediate sense of calm. The welcoming nature of the staff remained unparalleled from beginning to end. Welcoming you into the space, they explain that the château is your home while there, to be explored + enjoyed as though it truly is yours. From the outside, the stone facade, weathered by centuries of all sorts, is embraced by lush greenery, holding a charm enhanced by that unique soft sunlight I love about France, filtering in through the surrounding trees. Inside, the interiors reflect a chic yet comfortable + very comforting energy. The château was renovated extensively about about 20 years ago after a fire caused untold damaged, leaving the structure without a roof. Now though, with owners who have clearly loved it back to life in every detail, have ensured that it’s energy has a perfect recipe for chic, balancing the idea of an iconique boutique hotel with a house that’s become a home. Equally, it whispers stories of the past — nothing scary don't worry. But with the ancient open fireplaces - one dates back to the 1300’s if I recall correctly, enormous oak wooden beams, delicate textiles, lush textiles, + a thoughtfully curated mixture of older decor, it all comes together to create a harmoniously old world experience with the necessities + touches that give it it’s incredible warmth.

As one might dreamily expect of a day waking up in a château, it is very romantically so at Château Rigaud. Despite the fact that we only got one day of sunshine — the rest idyllically dreary for an October weekend in France — I found solace in the garden from the moment we arrived. The air, fragrant with the beauty of French countryside + a hint of dew. Days are spent exploring the surrounding countryside if you wish. We did one or two of the suggested excursions but decided to stay back on the others to enjoy life at the château, we loved it so much. Of course the region is renowned for its vineyards which are worth wandering through — not solely for the wine, but for the sheer beauty of their perfection. Medieval villages dot the landscape, their cobblestone streets + charming markets offering treasures of other kinds: handcrafted goods, local delicacies, + that uniquely French rhythm of life that I just adore so much.

Evenings at Château Rigaud are magical to say the least. Firstly, we were blessed to catch one of sun sets as it lay itself down behind the vineyards, casting the fields in golden light. But for the purpose of our family celebration we were there to experience the wine-tasting weekend, of which Château Rigaud puts on just a few select weekends each year + the evenings are when the real magic happen. Nothing short of enchanting, the experience is curated to highlight not only Bordeaux’s renowned vineyards but also the genius artistry of the château’s resident chef, John Grabecki, whose passion for local flavours elevates each moment + every bite. Each evening we were guided through intimate tastings in the château’s dinning room while the wine lovers explored vintages from neighboring estates under the expertise of a sommelier. Complementing the wine is a series of exquisite meals crafted by the John + his team, whose talent lies in creating seasonal dishes that showcase the region’s abundance of fresh produce. Each plate is a testament to the château’s dedication to gastronomy just as much as their love of + expertise in wine. Whether you partake in the wines or simply savor the flavors, the weekend is an unforgettable celebration of Bordeaux’s culinary + cultural heritage.

At Château Rigaud, the essence of Bordeaux transcends its reputation for wine. To my own experience of it, sans the wine, it’s a place to reconnect — with yourself, with nature, + with the quiet joys that make life beautiful; something which, throughout my years of visiting France, the French are so eloquently gifted in. You don’t need to drink to experience the richness of this region. All you need is a willingness to slow down + let the charm of the château embrace you at every turn.

Discover your own chateau experience at CHÂTEAU-RIGUAD

---

Checking In; Cashel Palace

There’s a profound stillness to Tipperary that gets under your skin — in the most beautiful, soul-soothing way. Nestled within its energy, where ancient Irish history lives + breathes, sits Cashel Palace. A place that feels less like checking into a hotel + more like slipping quietly into another rhythm, another way of living. If even just for a few days.

Driving into Cashel town, the first glimpse of the infamous Rock — dramatic + unwavering — captures the attention. It’s humbling. Sacred. And just a stone’s throw away, the red-bricked façade of Cashel Palace rises like a quiet promise of settling in. You feel it before you even step through the doors: this is where you’re invited to pause, exhale, reconnect.

Originally built in 1732 for the Archbishops of Cashel, the house has been beautifully reimagined to a former glory. But somehow better; it’s restored with reverence, not literal reinvention. The recent renovation, overseen by the Magnier family of Coolmore Stud fame, was a meticulous labour of love. Susan Magnier led the interiors, collaborating with London-based designer Emma Pearson + Smallwood Architects to blend historic charm + modern luxury.

Inside, the narrative informs of elegance without pretension. Grand but grounded. Our room — airy, golden-lit, with windows that opened out back towards the Rock — felt cocoon-like. Every detail considered. Rich textures, natural tones, softening like a cosy blanket. Sleep hits differently here. It seem dreamless, entirely encapsulating. Maybe thanks to the good country air or perhaps the grandeur of one’s surrounds.

Days unfolded gently. Mornings begin with slow breakfasts — poached eggs, the kind of warm Irish brown bread of dreamy childhoods, butter that tastes like actual summer fields. There’s something about eating here that’s both deeply comforting + quietly celebratory. Truly Irish yet entirely elevated. The Bishop’s Buttery, all candlelight + vaulted ceilings, is a symphony of local produce. Each plate a nod to Irish heritage — refined, yet full of heart. And just across the courtyard, Mikey Ryan’s offered a different pace: cosy, convivial, full of character. The kind of place you settle into without checking the time.

The spa became our sanctuary. A long, glassy pool that stretches from inside to the outdoors, it’s dreaminess lit up by the sky. Outdoor seaweed baths. Treatments that felt like rituals. I floated, I steamed, I let go. We both did. Lost in time + a good book, it’s a space designed not just to pamper, but to heal. To realign.

But it was in the in-between moments —wandering the gardens in the golden hour, watching the shadows change on the ancient stones of the Rock, which you can walk right up to — that something shifts. There’s magic here. Not the loud kind. The quiet, ancient, rooted, Irish kind that stays with you long after you leave.

Cashel Palace doesn’t demand anything of you. It simply offers itself—gracefully, generously — as a place to come home to to. And in a world that so often pulls us in every direction, that feels like the rarest luxury of all.

Marfa, Texas; A Creatives Oasis

There are certain places that seduce you with noise, drawing on your attention with a possessive control. But then there’s Marfa — a place that draws you in with silence, negative space + a call to ____ Marfa, a single street town tucked into the high desert of West Texas, is surrounded by nothing but sky, silence, + the slow hum of wind across wide-open plains. This dreamy destination is more than a town — it’s a feeling. It’s a pause. A breath. A mirage that once came into vision on the horizon but decided to stay.

Marfa had been on my personal wishlist of places to see for many years + when we embarked on the 9 hour drive from Dallas, TX, it became clear exactly why my heart had been calling out to the cosmic energy of this soulfully creative land. Despite its location being in the literal desert, Marfa is not accidental. It became what it is because one man saw beyond the dust. In the 1970s, artist Donald Judd — disillusioned with the constraints of the New York art world — came here in search of space. Literal, spiritual, aesthetic. What he found was a town forgotten by time, surrounded by vast, unending land. And what he built became one of the most extraordinary testaments to minimalist art + the lasting power of radical vision.

Judd didn’t just hang art here. He embedded it into the landscape. He famously purchased decommissioned military barracks, transforming them into permanent installations. He believed that art should live in the space it was designed for — not shuffled around between white walls + museum basements.

Today, The Chinati Foundation, established by Judd, holds some of the most breathtaking contemporary art in the world. Monumental concrete sculptures sit in open fields like sacred ruins from the future. Light refracts in Dan Flavin’s fluorescent corridors. It’s all permanent + protected. Silent. Profound. To walk through Chinati is to understand space in a new way — how light, land + intention can create meaning without ever saying a word.

Although very much submerged in his spirit, Marfa is not simply frozen in Judd’s shadow. It’s alive — pulsing with a creative hum that draws artists, architects, designers, dreamers from all over the world. The art scene is not a moment here but a language of its own. Spoken in the galleries tucked behind unmarked doors + whispered through the installations hidden in alleys, it threads itself around conversations at Al Campo or coffee at Do Your Thing. It’s in the careful way people build here how they live, the way they dress — not loud, but considered, unique, unencumbered. Your days in Marfa unfold like a soft desert hymn. And due to its tiny acreage, the list is short. Yet oh so sweet.

Mornings begin slowly. Coffee at Do Your Thing is a ritual — sourdough toast with lemon ricotta + local honey, shadows dancing across concrete floors. At Aster Marfa, everything is baked with intention: heritage grains, wild flavor pairings, + that gentle glow only found in small desert towns.Pastries at Cochineal feel like a secret — if you know, you know. And now you do so don’t miss them.

Afternoons are for wandering. Slow, endless wandering after lunch at The Sentinel — which feels like a page from a novel — a working press-turned-café where you sip iced matcha surrounded by old typewriters + community prints. Marfa Burrito, run by the legendary Ramona, is sacred — home-cooked authenticity wrapped in a flour tortilla, eaten at a picnic table in the sun. And Food Shark, with its artfully ramshackle trailer, serves the most poetic falafel this side of the border.

Golden hour is when Marfa reveals her glamorous side. Dinner at Cochineal is a desert fairytale — soft lights strung through trees, glasses clinking, plates filled with seasonal brilliance. While over at Al Campo, mezze + wine flow beneath desert stars, while Jett’s Grill serves some major retro cowboy charm with a side of cinematic nostalgia. Elizabeth Taylor once dined here during the filming of Giant.

After dark, Marfa glows in unexpected corners. At The Capri, architectural perfection + candlelight cocktails create a mood so transportive it borders on surreal. Lost Horse Saloon gives you the opposite — it’s dusty boots, live music, pool tables, laughter that spills into the street that brings life to the darkness. And Bar Saint George, ever sleek + minimal, is where the stylish drift for a final drink under desert skies.

But you’ll also find joy in the quieter things here. Well I sure did. Coffee at Frama, a laundromat-turned-gathering spot with espresso + ice cream. A Saturday morning at the farmers market. A spontaneous conversation with a gallery owner about Judd, his land art, or simple pleasures you discover just by being in the energy of this otherworldly place. It’s like a sort of love.

And just when you think you’ve seen all her secrets, Marfa offers up a few more. The iconic Prada Marfa installation sits some 30 minutes outside of town, on a stretch of Highway 90 so desolate it feels like you’ve slipped into a surrealist dream. Created by artists Elmgreen + Dragset, the installation mimics a luxury boutique — complete with actual Prada heels + handbags — but it’s sealed shut, decaying gently under the desert sun. A poetic commentary on consumerism, permanence, + place, it’s not about shopping. It’s about pausing. About presence. About asking, what belongs where? And why?

Back in town, the gallery scene quietly hums with brilliance. You’ll stumble upon thought-provoking work at Ballroom Marfa, a note-worthy contemporary art space housed in a converted 1920s dance hall, where exhibitions spill into sound, sculpture, + sometimes the landscape itself. Rule Gallery, Wrong Marfa, + Inde/Jacobs are all worth wandering into too — each one carrying the scent of something unexpected, part raw, part beautiful.

Book lovers should definitely head to Marfa Book Company — part bookstore, part gallery, part cultural hub — a place to lose yourself in rare titles on art, architecture, + desert mysticism. To me this was a cosmic experience. It’s also where you might overhear someone whispering about the next Judd or Flavin, or the latest poetry reading happening down a side street after dusk.

Marfa isn’t a checklist. It’s a presence. A mood. A place where art didn’t just arrive — it moved in, it rooted itself here. It’s lived as it pulses alongside those who’ve touched the allure in person. Thoroughly inclusive of all + communicative by heart, you leave expanded somehow. Without return or know of who you were before.

Come with curiosity. Leave with less noise, more space. And a new understanding of how art — like life — can beat to the rhythm of your own heart.