While I won’t be able to publish this post until I land, I nonetheless write from the flukey luxury of the emergency exit seat of my flight to Moscow. Week two of this particular glut of travel has begun, where I take one step further toward reluctantly becoming carbon-footprintesse; racking up the airmiles faster than you can say ‘the Amazon is shrinking’. Actually, that last bit is a lie – from the unglamourous world of discount economy, the points don’t accrue quite as fast as one would hope. But as usual I digress.
A mildly depressing by-product of the travel (which don’t for a moment, think I don’t enjoy) is that the novelty wears off. Not that long ago, entering airports still gave me that slight nervous feeling in the bottom of my tummy; packing the night before was exciting, sitting in the confines of an aeroplane cabin was cool and not irritating and the window seat was a coveted prize.
Alas, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. The ugly underbelly of the whole thing (apart from the increasing disconnexion with your life at home) is that your skin dries out like an old boot, your diet is thrown into disarray by time differences & hotel breakfasts, and the wonderful efficiencies of such airborne conveniences as ‘BA’s own handwash/airfreshener’ wreak havoc on a gal’s physiology.
All of my closest friends know of my tendency to spontaneously break out in bizarre red rashes & flushes – probably an unfortunate inheritance of rosacea from my mother-dearest. This somewhat unpredictable condition seems to be exacerbated by the ‘less than 1%’ humidity environment of the plane (I just read that in the in-flight magazine) and the chemical innovations that British Air obviously considers time and space savers. (If every poor sod to use the loo washes their hands with that awful 2 in 1 stuff, I don’t suppose it matters how smelly the darned facility gets). Increasingly I understand the carefully selected array of cosmetics available on board in the duty free catalogue – 8 hour Cream to quench my skin’s equivalent of a rollicking hangover, and various eye potions to smooth the wrinkly depressions that develop around my squinting peepers.
I’m not for a moment trying to sound brattish and hoity-toity about all of this. Landing in Kyiv on a Tuesday only to fly to Vienna on a Thursday and Moscow the following Monday is the randomest, most brilliant thing to do in the name of work that I can currently imagine. What’s even more fortunate is that I actually enjoy what I do at either end of the journey.
This current travel glut more exciting than usual for a couple of reasons. This week I am in Moscow for nearly 4 whole days, innocently timed to coincide with the Chelsea v Manchester United match on Wednesday night. The atmosphere in Moscow promises to be as electric as the prods holstered in the utility belts of the riot police, as they jab all the unsuspecting footy yobs (who are about to get the shock of their lives in Moscow) in their parochial backsides.
The second cause for excitement is that Mama Neary is currently here, and we are flying together to Spain (Benahavis to be precise) on Friday after I touch back down in Londres for a whole 12 hours. All I know about Benahavis is that I am staying in a spa hotel, there are a lot of very very good restaurants around, and that there is a high probability of a high proportion of sun. B-E-A-utiful.
Anyway, given my good fortune in being allocated a seat with expansive and luxurious leg room, it would seem almost sinful not to at least stretch out and lap it up. This is virtually impossible to do with my laptop propped on my lap, so das vitanya. Or however they say it in Moskva.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Chivalry
So finally, I am writing a post on here. After two months of not very much, I've found some inspiration. I have a policy you see, of not writing on here unless I have something interesting (at least in my humble opinion) to say. So much meaningless and unconsidered pap abounds on the Internet, that while not necessarily always being able to avoid adding to the pile, I'd like to think that I can at least self-censor until I have something a)vaguely witty b)vaguely thematic or c) where a and b cannot be achieved, something that meets the basic threshold criteria of being, vaguely interesting.
I have thus decided to write a note on British chivalry. I hope you don't mind if I simultaneously tuck in to my wild mushroom ravioli having just got in from a muscle pulverising session on the power plates - my new favourite gym equipment.
So.
The British are known for having good manners. As a British-born Australian-raised anomaly, I often find these manners rather stultifying, however equally as often, I find them quite nice and endearing.
One thing that I find quite hard to adjust to, and which I don't recall happening anywhere near as consistently in Australia, is when I am waiting either to get in or out of the lift at work, and find that any member of the male species who happens to be waiting to do the same, makes a very English point of allowing me to either enter or exit first.
After over nine months I still don't think I have got the feminine etiquette right in this situation.
Does one simply ignore the fact that every man in the lift is standing there waiting politely for you to exit first, and stride out, chin up and feigning oblivion? (Sometimes I do this.) Or rather, make subtle eye contact with the waiting gent, tilt her head ever so slightly in self-effacing acknowledgement and then walk out? (Sometimes I do this.) Or do I (and this is my instinctive reaction) - roll my eyes in reluctant acceptance of this chivalry, say 'thanks' in my broadest Austrayan accent, and walk on ahead?
Sigh. Daily, five, six, seven times I take the lift between floors and am faced with this quandary, which I suspect, were I born and bread in mother England, wouldn't even register on my 'thing-dar' as being a thing.
The other chivalrous act which causes me some trepidation is the assistance that British (and central European for that matter) gentlemen will often provide with one's coat. Being a northern lass, broad-of shoulder but disproportionately narrow in lower rib-cage, the cut of coat I seem to buy does not lend itself to the athletic manoeuvre that is, struggling into a coat that is being held open behind you by a date/friend/senior partner of the firm, however kind their intentions. I am therefore often at my most unwieldy and least glamorous when struggling into a coat at the end of a pleasant lunch/dinner/drink in a bar...... Woe is me, the tall woman who prefers to wear 2-3 inch heels, participates enthusiastically in conversation, thereby drawing enough attention to herself to ensure that the coat-struggling leads to one of those embarrassing flushes to which she is prone - the kind that creeps down the sides of her neck and betrays her discomfort!
My final note on British chivalry is this. All of the above flies madly out of the window when one takes the Underground. The kindly Associate who might wait for you to step into the lift, will elbow you out of the way, without a qualm, should he happen to meet you in the Hobbesian world of the platform at King's Cross station at 9.05am. The polite and softly spoken gent with whom you have shared a quiet cocktail or two in some chichi bar prior to his ably provided assistance with your coat, will happily elbow you in the face whilst smushed against you like a sardine, leaving you hunched like a wilting hydrangea in that annoying section at the side of each tube carriage (on the Piccadilly line especially) that was created for hobbits, dwarfs and all other beings under 4'11.
The philosophical question which I now pose is this? If these good manners, and particularly the gendered ones of the nature I have described above, don't extend to the Londoner's daily commute - what in fact is the point of them? :-)
Anyway, I've said all I need to say on that.
A quick update on other news - I spent Easter in Latvia, as the loyal amongst you would know. It was great and I'd recommend a visit. Don't expect to sleep.
I was meant to go to Vienna for work today, but the trip was cancelled at the last minute because one of the Partners who was due to come, had to work on a big transaction which was going to close at the same time as she was meant to be standing in front of a client teaching them about share purchase agreements. So that was a bit annoying.
I've started reading my first piece of central and eastern European literature - The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky. Dad did you ever read him at Uni?
There are a couple of other developments, but they are a bit embarrassing and I've not decided whether I am prepared to publicly humiliate myself yet for your reading-pleasure.....
Mum is coming in May and we are going to visit Marbella in Spain (the alarming growth of my carbon footprint by virtue of air travel this year, does not escape my attention - fear not.)
I have my first trip to Kyiv, also in May which friends tell me makes the hedonism of Warsaw, Riga and Moscow look dilute.
In June I intend to attend a big summer festival here in London.
July = bonus time! Yippee!
August = the central European odyssey with Ellie. Jumping out of my skin with excitement at the though of sitting in a chalet in the Julian Alps overlooking Lake Bled in Slovenia, sitting on a towel admiring the southern Croatian coast, catching a train to a spa-island just outside Bratislava. Sigh.
Sorry folks. Can't see myself leaving this part of the world quiiiiiteee yet.
xx
I have thus decided to write a note on British chivalry. I hope you don't mind if I simultaneously tuck in to my wild mushroom ravioli having just got in from a muscle pulverising session on the power plates - my new favourite gym equipment.
So.
The British are known for having good manners. As a British-born Australian-raised anomaly, I often find these manners rather stultifying, however equally as often, I find them quite nice and endearing.
One thing that I find quite hard to adjust to, and which I don't recall happening anywhere near as consistently in Australia, is when I am waiting either to get in or out of the lift at work, and find that any member of the male species who happens to be waiting to do the same, makes a very English point of allowing me to either enter or exit first.
After over nine months I still don't think I have got the feminine etiquette right in this situation.
Does one simply ignore the fact that every man in the lift is standing there waiting politely for you to exit first, and stride out, chin up and feigning oblivion? (Sometimes I do this.) Or rather, make subtle eye contact with the waiting gent, tilt her head ever so slightly in self-effacing acknowledgement and then walk out? (Sometimes I do this.) Or do I (and this is my instinctive reaction) - roll my eyes in reluctant acceptance of this chivalry, say 'thanks' in my broadest Austrayan accent, and walk on ahead?
Sigh. Daily, five, six, seven times I take the lift between floors and am faced with this quandary, which I suspect, were I born and bread in mother England, wouldn't even register on my 'thing-dar' as being a thing.
The other chivalrous act which causes me some trepidation is the assistance that British (and central European for that matter) gentlemen will often provide with one's coat. Being a northern lass, broad-of shoulder but disproportionately narrow in lower rib-cage, the cut of coat I seem to buy does not lend itself to the athletic manoeuvre that is, struggling into a coat that is being held open behind you by a date/friend/senior partner of the firm, however kind their intentions. I am therefore often at my most unwieldy and least glamorous when struggling into a coat at the end of a pleasant lunch/dinner/drink in a bar...... Woe is me, the tall woman who prefers to wear 2-3 inch heels, participates enthusiastically in conversation, thereby drawing enough attention to herself to ensure that the coat-struggling leads to one of those embarrassing flushes to which she is prone - the kind that creeps down the sides of her neck and betrays her discomfort!
My final note on British chivalry is this. All of the above flies madly out of the window when one takes the Underground. The kindly Associate who might wait for you to step into the lift, will elbow you out of the way, without a qualm, should he happen to meet you in the Hobbesian world of the platform at King's Cross station at 9.05am. The polite and softly spoken gent with whom you have shared a quiet cocktail or two in some chichi bar prior to his ably provided assistance with your coat, will happily elbow you in the face whilst smushed against you like a sardine, leaving you hunched like a wilting hydrangea in that annoying section at the side of each tube carriage (on the Piccadilly line especially) that was created for hobbits, dwarfs and all other beings under 4'11.
The philosophical question which I now pose is this? If these good manners, and particularly the gendered ones of the nature I have described above, don't extend to the Londoner's daily commute - what in fact is the point of them? :-)
Anyway, I've said all I need to say on that.
A quick update on other news - I spent Easter in Latvia, as the loyal amongst you would know. It was great and I'd recommend a visit. Don't expect to sleep.
I was meant to go to Vienna for work today, but the trip was cancelled at the last minute because one of the Partners who was due to come, had to work on a big transaction which was going to close at the same time as she was meant to be standing in front of a client teaching them about share purchase agreements. So that was a bit annoying.
I've started reading my first piece of central and eastern European literature - The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky. Dad did you ever read him at Uni?
There are a couple of other developments, but they are a bit embarrassing and I've not decided whether I am prepared to publicly humiliate myself yet for your reading-pleasure.....
Mum is coming in May and we are going to visit Marbella in Spain (the alarming growth of my carbon footprint by virtue of air travel this year, does not escape my attention - fear not.)
I have my first trip to Kyiv, also in May which friends tell me makes the hedonism of Warsaw, Riga and Moscow look dilute.
In June I intend to attend a big summer festival here in London.
July = bonus time! Yippee!
August = the central European odyssey with Ellie. Jumping out of my skin with excitement at the though of sitting in a chalet in the Julian Alps overlooking Lake Bled in Slovenia, sitting on a towel admiring the southern Croatian coast, catching a train to a spa-island just outside Bratislava. Sigh.
Sorry folks. Can't see myself leaving this part of the world quiiiiiteee yet.
xx
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Look! I'm in Riga!
I have not written on my blog for ages and ages. Thoroughly neglectful and utterly lazy.
To tide you over till I get time to write something proper - here is a picture of me in Riga over the Easter weekend. I went with four friends - all male - and had an absolute ball!
To tide you over till I get time to write something proper - here is a picture of me in Riga over the Easter weekend. I went with four friends - all male - and had an absolute ball!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Friday, February 08, 2008
Four Countries, Four Weeks, Energy, Fatigue
"Excuse me, I'm sorry, there's not a lot of room. I hope you don't mind me standing here', I said to the two young gentlemen standing at the bar in Platinum, Warsaw.
'Is that an Australian accent?' said one of them, obviously himself an Aussie far from home.
'Indeed it is' I replied.
And thereupon started one of the more interesting and serendipitous meetings of the past few weeks.
Rewind some time.
My feet touched the ground in London last Wednesday evening. I had spent the five preceding days in Warsaw, and the three immediately before that in Moscow. In the week prior, and the one immediately after my most recent post, I was in Prague.
My arm has an increasingly black looking mark on it from where I continue to pinch myself. These are the places where I now find myself working. Honestly, I can't believe my luck. As the line from Sound of Music goes 'Somewhere in my youth, or childhood...I must have done something good.' Forgive me, as always, for my cheesy lapses.
Alas, Prague was a bit of a rush. Client training, the first of three, a new initiative, to-ing and fro-ing and lots of people to see, I mashed my sightseeing into 15 minutes and ran back to the office to jump in a taxi. I shall return there and stay longer. It is a stunning city, absolutely beautiful.
Moscow on the other hand was slightly less frenetic. I have 2 pals in that office - an Adelaide boy and a Sydney boy. They took me to dinner (on expenses, god bless expenses!) and then for a walk through the snow to Red Square. Where I stood. Like an idiot. Cursing the limitations of the camera on my blackberry and wanting to snap the place from every angle, and cursing my own ignorance for not knowing more about the history of the place. I know enough to get it, but not enough to really get it. That makes limited sense.
Apologies, I still haven't redressed by sleep deficit.
Moscow is not an easy place to visit. Of the 7 offices I work in, and the 5 I have been to thus far, it is the furthest away, it has the biggest time difference, smiling gets you nowhere, and English even less. It is a vast and intimidating city, ironically materialistic but still somehow not Western. Even the sign on McDonalds is written in cyrillic. Now people, imagine it........
It is wildly expensive, and I cannot fathom how people not fortunate enough to have an ex-pat's salary or a corporate credit card manage to eek out their existence. My accommodation for one night in that place cost well over three quarters of my weekly take-home pay. And the hotel was sub-par, the breakfast utterly dismal.
Again the faces, the faces - they are different. The eyes on the metro (I caught it with Arty and Mark) are sad, the jawlines set, movements measured, reactions considered. It is the only place where I have been that the use of English, even mere pleasantries, is consistently, overwhelmingly, met with a blank expressionless stare. You will be treated more favourably, it would appear, if you speak gruffly in any language, without eye contact, and raise your voice if you don't get your own way.
I am painting, not undeliberately, an unfriendly picture. It only got to about -10 when I was there. It snowed for only the second time this year. 'This is not winter' explained the Muscovites in my office, 'there is no snow' (this was patently untrue, I could see it everywhere) 'It is not cold' (this last point, I can also verify, was patently untrue). By Moscow standards perhaps, and for people accustomed to fierce, biting, unforgiving winters, this was all true.
In a cab, an amusing thing happened. I use the term 'cab' loosely, as in Moscow, every man with a car is a possible conduit between you and your destination. Bereft of Russian, I was dependent on my pals and colleagues to sort out such vehicles to ferry me about. In one cab with a man who looked like he was from the outskirts of the former Soviet Union, (a '-stan' country) I mused with Arthur about whether this was truly safe. 'Don't be silly, it's fine, trust me' he said. Conceding I replied 'Where do you think this guy is from?' 'I don't want to say in case he understands me'. 'What does it start with?' I pressed. "Maybe a 'T'??' was Arthur's answer. A few moments of silence.
'So are you guys tourists?' came the voice of the driver. This in a city where my ears barely heard English spoken. Arthur and I looked at each other slightly embarassed, wondering how much our driver had understood.
The flight home was delayed, and then, frustratingly an hour of my life was sucked away by the tarmac at Heathrow. 'I'm awfully sorry chaps', said the pilot, 'I'm going to turn the engines off, it looks like we will be sitting here awhile. Feel free to turn on your phones and call who you need to.' He may not have said chaps. I didn't hear. I, like the other be-suited types onboard were already clicking our tongues on our teeth, powering up our blackberries, and furiously flicking emails here and there complaining about the airport, imploring our taxi's to wait awhile longer for us.
How suddenly one becomes accustomed to this kind of existence!
10 hours later, and after a fairly fitful sleep, I was on the plane to Warsaw to join the staff of that office for their annual ball. I had big expectations for this city, having developed a semi-fixation on Polish men, and having made some absolutely fabulous Polish friends. It didn't disappoint me.
Warsaw is not a beautiful city. It was flattened, demolished with calculating completeness in the second world war. Now the skyline is dominated by tower blocks, slightly less ugly than those in Moscow, but nonetheless unattractive. These building were erected in the 50's and 60's to house the thousands of people who returned to the city. As my dear friend Izabela explained 'these were meant to be temporary', but I guess the advent of communism meant that the incentive to knock them down was removed.
Did you know that the hedonistic heyday of Poland was in the 20's and 30's, pre-war? Either did I, until Iza took Kat and I to a fabulous art gallery. I have never seen the history of a place depicted so clearly through art as I did there. Such pronounced differences, from the Parisian reminiscent chic of that pre-war period, giving way to the influences of war, and then to the greys and industry of communism. Amazing. And illuminating.
The old town, completely destroyed, and completely rebuilt. It looks therefore 'new' old. But is no less fantastic for it.
I found Warsaw to be a very calming place. Notwithstanding two extraordinarily late nights (the second which I alluded to in the opening of this post) and a thorough insight into the life of the many young, glamorous, wealthy Poles who are making the most of the contemporary opportunities, I still found it to be calm and peaceful. I consider myself very lucky to have several good friends there, Izabela in particular.
And the chance meeting I mentioned above, led to a meeting in the office on Tuesday between one of the teams, and a high profile client (Australian). So it would seem, I may have paid for my trip in a roundabout way. Perhaps next year I shall ask for a 'business development' allowance, to facilitate clubbing in Eastern Europe..... not as preposterous as it sounds. :-)
Ladida. It could all get a bit intoxicating this constant travel. Fortunately, next Wednesday (actually, in 4 days time) I shall jump once more aboard a plane, to fly back to Australia. You can bring me crashing back to earth, and pick on the supposed English twang in my accent. As long are you are buying me Pale Ale, by the pint, I shall let you get away with it.
Good evening. Das vitanya. Do widzenia.
'Is that an Australian accent?' said one of them, obviously himself an Aussie far from home.
'Indeed it is' I replied.
And thereupon started one of the more interesting and serendipitous meetings of the past few weeks.
Rewind some time.
My feet touched the ground in London last Wednesday evening. I had spent the five preceding days in Warsaw, and the three immediately before that in Moscow. In the week prior, and the one immediately after my most recent post, I was in Prague.
My arm has an increasingly black looking mark on it from where I continue to pinch myself. These are the places where I now find myself working. Honestly, I can't believe my luck. As the line from Sound of Music goes 'Somewhere in my youth, or childhood...I must have done something good.' Forgive me, as always, for my cheesy lapses.
Alas, Prague was a bit of a rush. Client training, the first of three, a new initiative, to-ing and fro-ing and lots of people to see, I mashed my sightseeing into 15 minutes and ran back to the office to jump in a taxi. I shall return there and stay longer. It is a stunning city, absolutely beautiful.
Moscow on the other hand was slightly less frenetic. I have 2 pals in that office - an Adelaide boy and a Sydney boy. They took me to dinner (on expenses, god bless expenses!) and then for a walk through the snow to Red Square. Where I stood. Like an idiot. Cursing the limitations of the camera on my blackberry and wanting to snap the place from every angle, and cursing my own ignorance for not knowing more about the history of the place. I know enough to get it, but not enough to really get it. That makes limited sense.
Apologies, I still haven't redressed by sleep deficit.
Moscow is not an easy place to visit. Of the 7 offices I work in, and the 5 I have been to thus far, it is the furthest away, it has the biggest time difference, smiling gets you nowhere, and English even less. It is a vast and intimidating city, ironically materialistic but still somehow not Western. Even the sign on McDonalds is written in cyrillic. Now people, imagine it........
It is wildly expensive, and I cannot fathom how people not fortunate enough to have an ex-pat's salary or a corporate credit card manage to eek out their existence. My accommodation for one night in that place cost well over three quarters of my weekly take-home pay. And the hotel was sub-par, the breakfast utterly dismal.
Again the faces, the faces - they are different. The eyes on the metro (I caught it with Arty and Mark) are sad, the jawlines set, movements measured, reactions considered. It is the only place where I have been that the use of English, even mere pleasantries, is consistently, overwhelmingly, met with a blank expressionless stare. You will be treated more favourably, it would appear, if you speak gruffly in any language, without eye contact, and raise your voice if you don't get your own way.
I am painting, not undeliberately, an unfriendly picture. It only got to about -10 when I was there. It snowed for only the second time this year. 'This is not winter' explained the Muscovites in my office, 'there is no snow' (this was patently untrue, I could see it everywhere) 'It is not cold' (this last point, I can also verify, was patently untrue). By Moscow standards perhaps, and for people accustomed to fierce, biting, unforgiving winters, this was all true.
In a cab, an amusing thing happened. I use the term 'cab' loosely, as in Moscow, every man with a car is a possible conduit between you and your destination. Bereft of Russian, I was dependent on my pals and colleagues to sort out such vehicles to ferry me about. In one cab with a man who looked like he was from the outskirts of the former Soviet Union, (a '-stan' country) I mused with Arthur about whether this was truly safe. 'Don't be silly, it's fine, trust me' he said. Conceding I replied 'Where do you think this guy is from?' 'I don't want to say in case he understands me'. 'What does it start with?' I pressed. "Maybe a 'T'??' was Arthur's answer. A few moments of silence.
'So are you guys tourists?' came the voice of the driver. This in a city where my ears barely heard English spoken. Arthur and I looked at each other slightly embarassed, wondering how much our driver had understood.
The flight home was delayed, and then, frustratingly an hour of my life was sucked away by the tarmac at Heathrow. 'I'm awfully sorry chaps', said the pilot, 'I'm going to turn the engines off, it looks like we will be sitting here awhile. Feel free to turn on your phones and call who you need to.' He may not have said chaps. I didn't hear. I, like the other be-suited types onboard were already clicking our tongues on our teeth, powering up our blackberries, and furiously flicking emails here and there complaining about the airport, imploring our taxi's to wait awhile longer for us.
How suddenly one becomes accustomed to this kind of existence!
10 hours later, and after a fairly fitful sleep, I was on the plane to Warsaw to join the staff of that office for their annual ball. I had big expectations for this city, having developed a semi-fixation on Polish men, and having made some absolutely fabulous Polish friends. It didn't disappoint me.
Warsaw is not a beautiful city. It was flattened, demolished with calculating completeness in the second world war. Now the skyline is dominated by tower blocks, slightly less ugly than those in Moscow, but nonetheless unattractive. These building were erected in the 50's and 60's to house the thousands of people who returned to the city. As my dear friend Izabela explained 'these were meant to be temporary', but I guess the advent of communism meant that the incentive to knock them down was removed.
Did you know that the hedonistic heyday of Poland was in the 20's and 30's, pre-war? Either did I, until Iza took Kat and I to a fabulous art gallery. I have never seen the history of a place depicted so clearly through art as I did there. Such pronounced differences, from the Parisian reminiscent chic of that pre-war period, giving way to the influences of war, and then to the greys and industry of communism. Amazing. And illuminating.
The old town, completely destroyed, and completely rebuilt. It looks therefore 'new' old. But is no less fantastic for it.
I found Warsaw to be a very calming place. Notwithstanding two extraordinarily late nights (the second which I alluded to in the opening of this post) and a thorough insight into the life of the many young, glamorous, wealthy Poles who are making the most of the contemporary opportunities, I still found it to be calm and peaceful. I consider myself very lucky to have several good friends there, Izabela in particular.
And the chance meeting I mentioned above, led to a meeting in the office on Tuesday between one of the teams, and a high profile client (Australian). So it would seem, I may have paid for my trip in a roundabout way. Perhaps next year I shall ask for a 'business development' allowance, to facilitate clubbing in Eastern Europe..... not as preposterous as it sounds. :-)
Ladida. It could all get a bit intoxicating this constant travel. Fortunately, next Wednesday (actually, in 4 days time) I shall jump once more aboard a plane, to fly back to Australia. You can bring me crashing back to earth, and pick on the supposed English twang in my accent. As long are you are buying me Pale Ale, by the pint, I shall let you get away with it.
Good evening. Das vitanya. Do widzenia.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Snow and Faces
I am currently in Bucharest writing this from my blackberry. Forgive the poorly thought out ideas. Am blogging as best as I can from the comfort of my hotel bed in a country where the water is apparently brown sometimes.
Naively, I always had in my mind previously that the countries behind the former iron curtain were in some small way uniform. Obviously it had occurred to me that there were differences, but what I didn't expect to find was that the single, the only common thread that bound them during that era was communism. Ethnic, cultural, linguistic, historical diversity that was, apparently, repressed to varying degrees during that long era now manifests everywhere.
But the thing that has most surprised me quite possibly is the faces. Romanian faces seem to be vaguely mediterranean and I learned tonight that Romanian is a Latin derived language-closer to Spanish or Italian than it is to its at once close and distant slavic neigbours.
Bucharest is cloaked in snow right now and it is cold,but in an exciting rather than numbing way. People at work have been laughing at my (as it turns out) misplaced trepidation about how to cope with icy pavements and trudging through snow drifts.The truth is that here, unlike in England, they are accustomed to and thus prepared for snow. It makes it easier to cope with. Having borrowed an exquisitely cosy rabbit lined anorak from Frilly certainly helps. To the friends expressing their horror at my wearing of fur- a thought for you- try waiting for a cab in -12 without a fur and see how your opinion changes.... :-) Anyway, rabbits are pests.
I suspect I may have started a fire with that burst of capriciousness..!
Anyway. The snow is wonderful. As surprisingly is the freezing fog. I feel like a lock-jawed ninny staring glazed eyed from the taxi window at cars buried in snow, and like a cool-clime novice when I express surprise at aircraft casually parked on unnatural and abandoned angles aside the runway.
Could I live in it? Certainly not. But as a visitor whose time is made finite here by the prospect of snow on Thursday and the inflexible conditions of my return ticket, the snow is delicious.
As is the prospect of 8 uninterupted hours of sleep. Starting now.
Naively, I always had in my mind previously that the countries behind the former iron curtain were in some small way uniform. Obviously it had occurred to me that there were differences, but what I didn't expect to find was that the single, the only common thread that bound them during that era was communism. Ethnic, cultural, linguistic, historical diversity that was, apparently, repressed to varying degrees during that long era now manifests everywhere.
But the thing that has most surprised me quite possibly is the faces. Romanian faces seem to be vaguely mediterranean and I learned tonight that Romanian is a Latin derived language-closer to Spanish or Italian than it is to its at once close and distant slavic neigbours.
Bucharest is cloaked in snow right now and it is cold,but in an exciting rather than numbing way. People at work have been laughing at my (as it turns out) misplaced trepidation about how to cope with icy pavements and trudging through snow drifts.The truth is that here, unlike in England, they are accustomed to and thus prepared for snow. It makes it easier to cope with. Having borrowed an exquisitely cosy rabbit lined anorak from Frilly certainly helps. To the friends expressing their horror at my wearing of fur- a thought for you- try waiting for a cab in -12 without a fur and see how your opinion changes.... :-) Anyway, rabbits are pests.
I suspect I may have started a fire with that burst of capriciousness..!
Anyway. The snow is wonderful. As surprisingly is the freezing fog. I feel like a lock-jawed ninny staring glazed eyed from the taxi window at cars buried in snow, and like a cool-clime novice when I express surprise at aircraft casually parked on unnatural and abandoned angles aside the runway.
Could I live in it? Certainly not. But as a visitor whose time is made finite here by the prospect of snow on Thursday and the inflexible conditions of my return ticket, the snow is delicious.
As is the prospect of 8 uninterupted hours of sleep. Starting now.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
This Year and Next
It is now 6 full months that I have been here in London. That, and the fact that we are knocking on the door of 2008 has made me tres reflective. A bit of introspection never hurt anyone did it?
For a start, I have made for resolutions for the New Year. Your assistance with a couple of them is being solicited and actively encouraged.
1) I am going to learn to make a fantastic meat and potato pie - never fail crowd pleaser :-)
2) Further to the above, I am going to learn to make a kick-ass lasagna - given that as a child I repeatedly answered "lasagna" when quizzed on my favourite food, it is a little bit strange that I have never made one.
*I INTEND TO TRY A NUMBER OF RECIPES OUT OVER THE COURSE OF THE NEXT FEW MONTHS AND WOULD LIKE YOU TO SHARE YOUR BEST IF YOU HAVE THEM*
3) Learn to enjoy having a bath - many people would know that while I have no aversion to 'bathe-ing' generally, but that I have for some time loathed baths. I have diagnosed this as being directly symptomatic of my inability to relax, and therefore have prescribed for myself a new years resolution to force myself to get over this.
4) Finally and perhaps most importantly - in the new year I am going to stop not doing things, because I don't have anyone to do them with. There is a slightly melancholic tinge to this resolution I suppose, given that my occasional lonerism is due to my ongoing single-ness. However, there are many things that I want to do in this city while I have the fortune of living here, and so damn it, I am going to do them alone-or-no. Theatre, museums, galleries, even holidays - in 2008 I shall unleash my inner pal. :-)
So that's my resolutions. What do you think? I think they are achievable - there is no point making resolutions like 'in 2008 I am going to do the things that I have been resolving to do on December 31 for every year of my life in recent memory'. If ya ain't lost that 5Kg/quit smoking/been on that holiday yet - another new years resolution ain't gonna help.
There are other things I want to achieve in 2008 of course, another notable one being to do some semi-competitive running, given my new found affinity with the treadmill. I also want to travel more within the UK to cities like Bath, Norwich, Torquay, Leeds, Bristol, Manchester, Cardiff, Glasgow and Edinburgh. Realistically I might get to 3 or 4 of them, and I am starting to plan this now. For all it's flaws, this is a beautiful country, and I take great delight in observing the subtle regional differences that even a journey of 5Km can reveal. As someone once said 'there's nowt as queer as folk'. Meeting as many of them as I can, will if nothing else, keep life interesting.
So that's the resolutions. Now for the retrospective.
I think 2007 for me will over time demonstrate itself to be a fairly important year. I flew the coop, slogged my way to admission as a lawyer and moved countries alone. I think that I have also learned in the last year, but really in the last couple, to chill out more and enjoy life as it comes.
I was mildly alarmed when flicking through a book in a bookshop today, to read that Einstein believed that at 25 you have pretty much achieve most of your potential and have set yourself on your life's trajectory (your parabola of success or failure?). A bloody depressing thought don't you think? I am not sure that I agree, but then again, as a 25-and-a-quarter year old, I wouldn't would I?
But I digress.
I have thought quite hard about this, and have listed what I consider to be the highlights and lowlights of the year that was. I will probably re-read this tomorrow and kick myself for missing out some pivotal moment, but if so, I guess it's my prerogative to edit it covertly. So ner.
Highlights of 2007 (in no particular order)
Lowlights of 2007
Without question this next six months will be tough- make or break if you will. They will also be unfailingly interesting, busy, challenging and exciting. Beginning the year with four international trips ought to set the tone.
So for now I shall bid you adieu fair-readers. Please don't forget to give me your recipes if you have good ones. I shall at least succeed in two of my resolutions.
NB - As an addendum to this diatribe of self-indulgence, please be advised that I had a wonderful christmas spanning four equally welcoming homes, with the cherry atop the week being a night out in Blackburn, the neighbouring town to Burnley where I was born. Thankfully I uploaded a few pics to the photostream yesterday prior to having my camera, blackberry and scarf pinched from my handbag (they didn't want the bag, or my lovely new gloves, or my new perfume), so all is not lost. :-(
For a start, I have made for resolutions for the New Year. Your assistance with a couple of them is being solicited and actively encouraged.
1) I am going to learn to make a fantastic meat and potato pie - never fail crowd pleaser :-)
2) Further to the above, I am going to learn to make a kick-ass lasagna - given that as a child I repeatedly answered "lasagna" when quizzed on my favourite food, it is a little bit strange that I have never made one.
*I INTEND TO TRY A NUMBER OF RECIPES OUT OVER THE COURSE OF THE NEXT FEW MONTHS AND WOULD LIKE YOU TO SHARE YOUR BEST IF YOU HAVE THEM*
3) Learn to enjoy having a bath - many people would know that while I have no aversion to 'bathe-ing' generally, but that I have for some time loathed baths. I have diagnosed this as being directly symptomatic of my inability to relax, and therefore have prescribed for myself a new years resolution to force myself to get over this.
4) Finally and perhaps most importantly - in the new year I am going to stop not doing things, because I don't have anyone to do them with. There is a slightly melancholic tinge to this resolution I suppose, given that my occasional lonerism is due to my ongoing single-ness. However, there are many things that I want to do in this city while I have the fortune of living here, and so damn it, I am going to do them alone-or-no. Theatre, museums, galleries, even holidays - in 2008 I shall unleash my inner pal. :-)
So that's my resolutions. What do you think? I think they are achievable - there is no point making resolutions like 'in 2008 I am going to do the things that I have been resolving to do on December 31 for every year of my life in recent memory'. If ya ain't lost that 5Kg/quit smoking/been on that holiday yet - another new years resolution ain't gonna help.
There are other things I want to achieve in 2008 of course, another notable one being to do some semi-competitive running, given my new found affinity with the treadmill. I also want to travel more within the UK to cities like Bath, Norwich, Torquay, Leeds, Bristol, Manchester, Cardiff, Glasgow and Edinburgh. Realistically I might get to 3 or 4 of them, and I am starting to plan this now. For all it's flaws, this is a beautiful country, and I take great delight in observing the subtle regional differences that even a journey of 5Km can reveal. As someone once said 'there's nowt as queer as folk'. Meeting as many of them as I can, will if nothing else, keep life interesting.
So that's the resolutions. Now for the retrospective.
I think 2007 for me will over time demonstrate itself to be a fairly important year. I flew the coop, slogged my way to admission as a lawyer and moved countries alone. I think that I have also learned in the last year, but really in the last couple, to chill out more and enjoy life as it comes.
I was mildly alarmed when flicking through a book in a bookshop today, to read that Einstein believed that at 25 you have pretty much achieve most of your potential and have set yourself on your life's trajectory (your parabola of success or failure?). A bloody depressing thought don't you think? I am not sure that I agree, but then again, as a 25-and-a-quarter year old, I wouldn't would I?
But I digress.
I have thought quite hard about this, and have listed what I consider to be the highlights and lowlights of the year that was. I will probably re-read this tomorrow and kick myself for missing out some pivotal moment, but if so, I guess it's my prerogative to edit it covertly. So ner.
Highlights of 2007 (in no particular order)
- Discovering Balzac
- Discovering Sufjan Stevens
- Discovering the weird and occasionally unnerving joy of travelling solo
- The Adelaide Weekend
- Living in Norwood with Erina
- Visiting Eastern Europe for the first time
- The Car Man at Sadler's Wells
- My friends
- Living with Frilly!!
- The Labor election win in Australia (as sweet as candy!)
- Labour Party Conference, meeting fellow politicos and seeing David 'the dish' Miliband speak three times (I'm being slightly tongue in cheek for those of you who care...)
- The day in August where I fell in love with London while sitting on the balcony drinking wine and staring dreamy-eyed into the darkening evening sky
Lowlights of 2007
- Being homesick
- Having my handbag and camera stolen in Fulham (that was last night by the way)
- The British winter
- Men (though I remain hopeful...)
- Being in London for the Aussie Labor victory
- The flagging fortunes of the British Labour Party
- Saying goodbye to Erina's wardrobe of glory
- The times where I haven't been true or honest to myself
- That day in June where I had to say goodbye to all my dearest friends and family in one big fat soul-crushing hit.
Without question this next six months will be tough- make or break if you will. They will also be unfailingly interesting, busy, challenging and exciting. Beginning the year with four international trips ought to set the tone.
So for now I shall bid you adieu fair-readers. Please don't forget to give me your recipes if you have good ones. I shall at least succeed in two of my resolutions.
NB - As an addendum to this diatribe of self-indulgence, please be advised that I had a wonderful christmas spanning four equally welcoming homes, with the cherry atop the week being a night out in Blackburn, the neighbouring town to Burnley where I was born. Thankfully I uploaded a few pics to the photostream yesterday prior to having my camera, blackberry and scarf pinched from my handbag (they didn't want the bag, or my lovely new gloves, or my new perfume), so all is not lost. :-(
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Mulled Wine
My toes were very cold at the point this picture was taken. My tummy on the other hand, was not. :-)
Tis The Season
I promised you that I would blog soon, properly. And here I am!
Yesterday. on a trip down to the German Christmas Markets in Kingston, I went into the computer shop and did what I should have done weeks ago. I bit the bullet and bought a new keyboard. Hurrah.
And for your sake, I wish I could say that a lot has happened since I last wrote on here. Alas it has not.
I have been working, sleeping, eating, going to the gym and preparing bit by bit for the next week or so of hysteria. You would think that being here and largely isolated from the majority of people with whom I have spent the last 24 years sharing christmas, my schedule might be devoid of appointments.
On the contrary, each night this week brings dinner with different friends, work functions of various stripes (bearing in mind that I have already had two work christmas 'do's') and then a frantic Friday night of preparation before I begin the pilgrimage in a northerly direction to spend Christmas with a combination of family, family friends, and new pals.
It's all rather busy, and nice. I do miss home though, and am rather homesick at the moment. The weather and short days certainly doesn't help (thank god for all the endorphins that I treat my brain to with my thrice-weekly gym sesh, otherwise I have no doubt I would be utterly depressed!). The upside to this cold christmas however, is the new and heretofore unexperienced christmas treats. For a start, people have real christmas trees. Yeah, like ones that grow in the ground.
But that is merely the beginning my friends. If I had a pound for every time I have drunk mulled wine in December, I might have actually be able to afford the Biba dress that I turned down (with great restraint) at their sample sale on Friday ;-). All the sandwich shops have various incarnations of a 'christmas sandwich' on sale which entail basically a roast dinner slapped between two slices of bread. Mmmmmm.
I went down to Kingston yesterday for the christmas markets, as I mentioned above, and they were cool. Kingston itself wasn't too bad either ( a bit of a shopping mecca....definitely contemplating a visit during the January sales.....). It does feel like christmas, but a different kind of christmas. I shall miss dearly on the 25th though, the annual seafood feast at Uncle Kev's. Moreton Bay Bugs. Crayfish. Prawns. Oysters. (Why does everything relate to food at the moment by the way?)
I shall remember my visit to Kingston forever, if only for the fact that I bought my first hat. I remember when I first arrived in London and was discussing winter with Frilly- who said 'oh yes, and you will need a hat Delly'. 'Pah', I said, 'Not I'. And yesterday I bought a hat. So that shows you who knew better doesn't it. It is cream, and wooly, and makes me look a bit like a baker boy. I tried on some berets but they do not suit my moon-shaped mug.
Today I was lucky enough to be invited to lunch with a friend from Adelaide, and a bunch of other people that I know from home plus new acquaintances. Anyway, snaps for Alice, who stuffed and cooked an entire turkey herself. And to Kate, who made a delightful sticky toffee pudding and apple crumble. And to Cat, for her M&M cookies. I contributed very little, apart from loaned crockery and cutlery, some wine, and of course, the privilege of my wit and company for the afternoon. :-) I learned today, that turkey apparently contains a natural sedative which (unsurprisingly) makes you very sleepy after you have eaten it in large quantities. I have since verified that this is true. Click here.
Perhaps predictably then, we all waddled home far earlier than scheduled. And so it is that I am wrapping some more presents, doing some washing, and planning the week ahead.
Fortunately, work isn't overly busy so i should be able to get out on time most evenings this week. January on the other hand, is looking like it will be an international odyssey of grand proportions. This is utterly exciting, apart from when I remember that I will be working in Eastern Europe in the depths of winter. I need to investigate the potential purchase of fur-lined boots, and some longjohns. Yep, I can hear you swooning.
My boss will be going on maternity leave shortly after I return from Oz (Feb 15-25th!!!) and so before she is banned from flying anywhere, we are squeezing in as much as we possibly can. The plan is about 4 trips in mid-late January, including Moscow, Bucharest, Prague, Warsaw and possibly Budapest. (I can just see those air-miles adding up........hooray!) So the first bit of the year is going to be madness. But very exciting madness.
Righto. You've all probably fallen asleep now and/or aren't even reading this in the first place because you gave up on me ever blogging again. But that's the state of things at this point in time.
I doubt I shall be on here before christmas, and perhaps not even before the new year. S o to entertain you until then I have uploaded some well-overdue pictures, including some of the Flat 93 Sexy Christmas Party which ransacked its way through my house last weekend. :-)
Hohoho. Bah humbug. All the rest. Eat a prawn for me, and think of me over here freezing, with the colour slowly leaching from my skin, but full of mulled wine, minced pies and turkey tiptoeing along the icy pavements whilst trying to keep my eyes open in spite of natural sedatives.
Until 2008. Mwah.
Yesterday. on a trip down to the German Christmas Markets in Kingston, I went into the computer shop and did what I should have done weeks ago. I bit the bullet and bought a new keyboard. Hurrah.
And for your sake, I wish I could say that a lot has happened since I last wrote on here. Alas it has not.
I have been working, sleeping, eating, going to the gym and preparing bit by bit for the next week or so of hysteria. You would think that being here and largely isolated from the majority of people with whom I have spent the last 24 years sharing christmas, my schedule might be devoid of appointments.
On the contrary, each night this week brings dinner with different friends, work functions of various stripes (bearing in mind that I have already had two work christmas 'do's') and then a frantic Friday night of preparation before I begin the pilgrimage in a northerly direction to spend Christmas with a combination of family, family friends, and new pals.
It's all rather busy, and nice. I do miss home though, and am rather homesick at the moment. The weather and short days certainly doesn't help (thank god for all the endorphins that I treat my brain to with my thrice-weekly gym sesh, otherwise I have no doubt I would be utterly depressed!). The upside to this cold christmas however, is the new and heretofore unexperienced christmas treats. For a start, people have real christmas trees. Yeah, like ones that grow in the ground.
But that is merely the beginning my friends. If I had a pound for every time I have drunk mulled wine in December, I might have actually be able to afford the Biba dress that I turned down (with great restraint) at their sample sale on Friday ;-). All the sandwich shops have various incarnations of a 'christmas sandwich' on sale which entail basically a roast dinner slapped between two slices of bread. Mmmmmm.
I went down to Kingston yesterday for the christmas markets, as I mentioned above, and they were cool. Kingston itself wasn't too bad either ( a bit of a shopping mecca....definitely contemplating a visit during the January sales.....). It does feel like christmas, but a different kind of christmas. I shall miss dearly on the 25th though, the annual seafood feast at Uncle Kev's. Moreton Bay Bugs. Crayfish. Prawns. Oysters. (Why does everything relate to food at the moment by the way?)
I shall remember my visit to Kingston forever, if only for the fact that I bought my first hat. I remember when I first arrived in London and was discussing winter with Frilly- who said 'oh yes, and you will need a hat Delly'. 'Pah', I said, 'Not I'. And yesterday I bought a hat. So that shows you who knew better doesn't it. It is cream, and wooly, and makes me look a bit like a baker boy. I tried on some berets but they do not suit my moon-shaped mug.
Today I was lucky enough to be invited to lunch with a friend from Adelaide, and a bunch of other people that I know from home plus new acquaintances. Anyway, snaps for Alice, who stuffed and cooked an entire turkey herself. And to Kate, who made a delightful sticky toffee pudding and apple crumble. And to Cat, for her M&M cookies. I contributed very little, apart from loaned crockery and cutlery, some wine, and of course, the privilege of my wit and company for the afternoon. :-) I learned today, that turkey apparently contains a natural sedative which (unsurprisingly) makes you very sleepy after you have eaten it in large quantities. I have since verified that this is true. Click here.
Perhaps predictably then, we all waddled home far earlier than scheduled. And so it is that I am wrapping some more presents, doing some washing, and planning the week ahead.
Fortunately, work isn't overly busy so i should be able to get out on time most evenings this week. January on the other hand, is looking like it will be an international odyssey of grand proportions. This is utterly exciting, apart from when I remember that I will be working in Eastern Europe in the depths of winter. I need to investigate the potential purchase of fur-lined boots, and some longjohns. Yep, I can hear you swooning.
My boss will be going on maternity leave shortly after I return from Oz (Feb 15-25th!!!) and so before she is banned from flying anywhere, we are squeezing in as much as we possibly can. The plan is about 4 trips in mid-late January, including Moscow, Bucharest, Prague, Warsaw and possibly Budapest. (I can just see those air-miles adding up........hooray!) So the first bit of the year is going to be madness. But very exciting madness.
Righto. You've all probably fallen asleep now and/or aren't even reading this in the first place because you gave up on me ever blogging again. But that's the state of things at this point in time.
I doubt I shall be on here before christmas, and perhaps not even before the new year. S o to entertain you until then I have uploaded some well-overdue pictures, including some of the Flat 93 Sexy Christmas Party which ransacked its way through my house last weekend. :-)
Hohoho. Bah humbug. All the rest. Eat a prawn for me, and think of me over here freezing, with the colour slowly leaching from my skin, but full of mulled wine, minced pies and turkey tiptoeing along the icy pavements whilst trying to keep my eyes open in spite of natural sedatives.
Until 2008. Mwah.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
The Weather
It is -1 right now. There was ice on the ground this morning. I almost slipped.
On a brighter note, it is sunny. But because it is sunny, there are no clouds, and it is -1.
Nature works in mysterious cyclical ways.
And in December in London, they are cold ways.
Brrrrrrrrr.
(PS I will post properly soon I promise - my laptop is still lacking a spacebar, and it takes me so long to type and i have no patience, so as soon as i have a minute to go into a computer shop I shall be purchasing a new keyboard.....and there will be a new post from me.)
On a brighter note, it is sunny. But because it is sunny, there are no clouds, and it is -1.
Nature works in mysterious cyclical ways.
And in December in London, they are cold ways.
Brrrrrrrrr.
(PS I will post properly soon I promise - my laptop is still lacking a spacebar, and it takes me so long to type and i have no patience, so as soon as i have a minute to go into a computer shop I shall be purchasing a new keyboard.....and there will be a new post from me.)
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Another moment of glory.
Everyone wants their 1.7 seconds of fame.
Mine kicks in here at around 1 minute 16.
Go Ruddy!
I cast my vote yesterday, with a horrific sniffly cold and in about 5 degrees. Gotta love London.
Mine kicks in here at around 1 minute 16.
Go Ruddy!
I cast my vote yesterday, with a horrific sniffly cold and in about 5 degrees. Gotta love London.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Poles and Cobblestones
I have to say, with some arrogance, that my new job is pretty sweet.
I just spent the weekend in Sofia, Bulgaria -eating, drinking and being merry with colleagues from the old Soviet bloc. Oh yeah. And I was working.
This was basically the deepest I have been into 'new' europe, and lordy lord, I had a good time.
I was helping to coordinate a training weekend of 50 lawyers from across our 7 CEE offices, and lucky for me, inherently bound up in that task was a significant amount of socialising including, unexpectedly, some of the best clubbing I have done in quite sometime!
I have resolved, also unexpectedly, that at the first opportunity I find, I think I am going to try and marry a Pole. I briefly thought that this might be a bad idea as I would end up with some unpronounceable combination of z's y's k's and o's as my surname, but, once I remembered that I don't intend to change my surname I realised that it was a surmountable problem.
By way of explanation, Polish men seem to be a lovely combination of chivalrous, well-groomed , attractive and nicely perfumed. I have always tried never to allow this blog to become a Carrie Bradshaw-esque column (though if I did, I would probably be richer) but given my recent perplexing experiences as a single woman on both sides of the globe, there is something very appealing about Polish sensibility. (As an aside lads, the girls are invariably gorgeous. Something to keep in mind....)
Whilst away, I made several observations that I planned to share on here, not the least of which is that 'boxing boot as fashion statement' is well and truly alive in Bulgaria, however as I have idiotically managed to break the space bar on my computer, typing this is causing fatigue of my usually indefatigable right thumb.
I have posted a couple of pics on the photostream, none of them too remarkable, but they do show the first big snow of the season, which conveniently ruined our group excursion to a world heritage listed monastery, and gave me my first true lip-numbing taste of the central european winter.
And I shall leave you with a final thought - cobblestones + ice + stiletto boots + Adelle = thank god there was a lovely chivalrous Polish man to save her. Hahahahahahaha. Goodnight & goodlucksky.
I just spent the weekend in Sofia, Bulgaria -eating, drinking and being merry with colleagues from the old Soviet bloc. Oh yeah. And I was working.
This was basically the deepest I have been into 'new' europe, and lordy lord, I had a good time.
I was helping to coordinate a training weekend of 50 lawyers from across our 7 CEE offices, and lucky for me, inherently bound up in that task was a significant amount of socialising including, unexpectedly, some of the best clubbing I have done in quite sometime!
I have resolved, also unexpectedly, that at the first opportunity I find, I think I am going to try and marry a Pole. I briefly thought that this might be a bad idea as I would end up with some unpronounceable combination of z's y's k's and o's as my surname, but, once I remembered that I don't intend to change my surname I realised that it was a surmountable problem.
By way of explanation, Polish men seem to be a lovely combination of chivalrous, well-groomed , attractive and nicely perfumed. I have always tried never to allow this blog to become a Carrie Bradshaw-esque column (though if I did, I would probably be richer) but given my recent perplexing experiences as a single woman on both sides of the globe, there is something very appealing about Polish sensibility. (As an aside lads, the girls are invariably gorgeous. Something to keep in mind....)
Whilst away, I made several observations that I planned to share on here, not the least of which is that 'boxing boot as fashion statement' is well and truly alive in Bulgaria, however as I have idiotically managed to break the space bar on my computer, typing this is causing fatigue of my usually indefatigable right thumb.
I have posted a couple of pics on the photostream, none of them too remarkable, but they do show the first big snow of the season, which conveniently ruined our group excursion to a world heritage listed monastery, and gave me my first true lip-numbing taste of the central european winter.
And I shall leave you with a final thought - cobblestones + ice + stiletto boots + Adelle = thank god there was a lovely chivalrous Polish man to save her. Hahahahahahaha. Goodnight & goodlucksky.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Inevitability
Winter is coming.
I swear that in the 2 weeks that my mother was here, and while my feet were barely touching the ground, the season changed.
As soon as I had time to take a deep breath and open my eyes again, all of a sudden it was darker, cooler, and the psyche of this town shifted, just a little.
Everywhere I walk now, the shadows of fallen oak leaves (probably swept up at 4 am by the street cleaner) stain the roads and the pavements like ghosts. They are quite beautiful, and I must admit, when I first noticed them everywhere as I walked to work, I was delighted. Silly things like this I guess, are what we don’t really have in Australia.
Just like London breathes in, breathes out and relaxes when the sun comes out, the trees seem to wait until the first day of autumn to breathe in and let their leaves fall to the ground with a sigh.
Other signs of the looming winter abound.
I arrived home to my flat a few weeks ago and literally had to de-robe as soon as I walked in the door. The heating for the whole of the block where I live had been switched on and as the boiler is located right underneath the floor of my flat, the pipes were (ironically) piping hot for a solid week, while the managers of the building tried to get the temperature right. The happy bonus of this is that, in winter, the flat will always be warm and this will, apparently, save us quite a bit of coin.
Where previously I could leave work at 6pm and trot along Aldersgate street with the sun sitting high in the sky, I now exit the revolving doors to a rapidly darkening sky. When I go to the gym, I emerge at 7 and it is totally dark. When I first arrived the sun didn’t set until well after 9. This, I find, is a little depressing.
I have noticed certain gastronomical changes in myself of late. Defaulting in my choice of beverage to a cup of tea is one of them. When I get to work, when I get home and when I am going to bed, I lose control of my will as my body, without prompt, goes through the motions of getting out my mug, boiling the kettle and preparing the brew. I only regain control when I am sat holding, two-handed, a steaming mug of English tea. It’s all a bit strange really.
The preference for stodge is also developing. I noticed this initially the other night when I went to a great little pub around the corner called the Bird in Hand, and on a lovely menu of all sorts of tasty treats, I chose sausage and mash. And my word, that cheesy mash and those yummy yummy Baron’s Court Butcher’s bangers, tasted lovely as they descended down through my oesophagus, on the way to their ultimate destination which I imagine (although this is obviously speculation) is either that nice soft bit of my tummy about an inch below my belly button, or (and this is more likely), to my thighs.
But I digress.
One of the definite upside’s of this whole getting colder business, is the clear days. Last weekend I had the fortune of attending a christening in Holmefirth, inYorkshire, and I don’t think we could have had more perfect weather. Although, naturally, 16 degrees is a little cold for my tastes, a clear sky with the odd fluffy cloud, no wind, and the rolling hills of West Yorkshire were, to my mind, absolutely exquisite.
A fellow christening-goer asked me whether we had views like that in Australia, and while I think we certainly do, I answered him by pointing out the things we wouldn’t have – stone walls that look like they were built 400 years ago (although it was probably 500 years ago) and little country cottages with triangular roofs, also made of stone. In Australia we have other things, but there are few I think, who can dispute the beauty of the northern countryside.
Anyway, life is going well here. I start my new job this week, and am very much looking forward to my first work trip the following week, to Bulgaria. I now have a blackberry for work which means you can email me on my work address at any hour of the day or night and I will get it. I can’t quite decide whether that is cool or depressing.
Right, well I have wasted nearly my entire Saturday on the phone and typing this for later upload to the blog (no internet at home right now…. grrrr!) so I am going to stop and get out of the house for a bit. So until next time, ciao.
(Oh yeah, I hear there is an election on. For a laugh go to this page.)
I swear that in the 2 weeks that my mother was here, and while my feet were barely touching the ground, the season changed.
As soon as I had time to take a deep breath and open my eyes again, all of a sudden it was darker, cooler, and the psyche of this town shifted, just a little.
Everywhere I walk now, the shadows of fallen oak leaves (probably swept up at 4 am by the street cleaner) stain the roads and the pavements like ghosts. They are quite beautiful, and I must admit, when I first noticed them everywhere as I walked to work, I was delighted. Silly things like this I guess, are what we don’t really have in Australia.
Just like London breathes in, breathes out and relaxes when the sun comes out, the trees seem to wait until the first day of autumn to breathe in and let their leaves fall to the ground with a sigh.
Other signs of the looming winter abound.
I arrived home to my flat a few weeks ago and literally had to de-robe as soon as I walked in the door. The heating for the whole of the block where I live had been switched on and as the boiler is located right underneath the floor of my flat, the pipes were (ironically) piping hot for a solid week, while the managers of the building tried to get the temperature right. The happy bonus of this is that, in winter, the flat will always be warm and this will, apparently, save us quite a bit of coin.
Where previously I could leave work at 6pm and trot along Aldersgate street with the sun sitting high in the sky, I now exit the revolving doors to a rapidly darkening sky. When I go to the gym, I emerge at 7 and it is totally dark. When I first arrived the sun didn’t set until well after 9. This, I find, is a little depressing.
I have noticed certain gastronomical changes in myself of late. Defaulting in my choice of beverage to a cup of tea is one of them. When I get to work, when I get home and when I am going to bed, I lose control of my will as my body, without prompt, goes through the motions of getting out my mug, boiling the kettle and preparing the brew. I only regain control when I am sat holding, two-handed, a steaming mug of English tea. It’s all a bit strange really.
The preference for stodge is also developing. I noticed this initially the other night when I went to a great little pub around the corner called the Bird in Hand, and on a lovely menu of all sorts of tasty treats, I chose sausage and mash. And my word, that cheesy mash and those yummy yummy Baron’s Court Butcher’s bangers, tasted lovely as they descended down through my oesophagus, on the way to their ultimate destination which I imagine (although this is obviously speculation) is either that nice soft bit of my tummy about an inch below my belly button, or (and this is more likely), to my thighs.
But I digress.
One of the definite upside’s of this whole getting colder business, is the clear days. Last weekend I had the fortune of attending a christening in Holmefirth, inYorkshire, and I don’t think we could have had more perfect weather. Although, naturally, 16 degrees is a little cold for my tastes, a clear sky with the odd fluffy cloud, no wind, and the rolling hills of West Yorkshire were, to my mind, absolutely exquisite.
A fellow christening-goer asked me whether we had views like that in Australia, and while I think we certainly do, I answered him by pointing out the things we wouldn’t have – stone walls that look like they were built 400 years ago (although it was probably 500 years ago) and little country cottages with triangular roofs, also made of stone. In Australia we have other things, but there are few I think, who can dispute the beauty of the northern countryside.
Anyway, life is going well here. I start my new job this week, and am very much looking forward to my first work trip the following week, to Bulgaria. I now have a blackberry for work which means you can email me on my work address at any hour of the day or night and I will get it. I can’t quite decide whether that is cool or depressing.
Right, well I have wasted nearly my entire Saturday on the phone and typing this for later upload to the blog (no internet at home right now…. grrrr!) so I am going to stop and get out of the house for a bit. So until next time, ciao.
(Oh yeah, I hear there is an election on. For a laugh go to this page.)
Saturday, October 06, 2007
W14
There comes a time in every girl's life where she has to confess that she has been extremely slack, and in turn, apologise profusely...
This is my time.
I haven't blogged very much lately.
But in my own defence, may I just say, that is has been a rather busy period.
To being with, I moved into my new flat on Tuesday. Many of you would have received the email updating my contact details, and the London savvy amongst you will recognise that the title of this post is a reference to my postcode. Ahem.
Anyway, I am sharing with a German girl who is a product designer (this is her website) and a Greek boy who is in finance. Thus far it has been cool. My room is pretty comfortable and I am personalising it bit by bit. It's in West Kensington which sounds a bit posher than it is, but it's great for transport etc etc, and I think I have stumbled on a pretty good deal.
So what are my other excuses?
Well, Mum was here for a fortnight, which consumed my time a fair bit. We had a great time, traipsing up and down the country and across to Belgium for a weekend too. Even though it hadn't been too long since I last saw my folks, having them around certainly reminds you of such things as; how restrained your personality generally is when you aren't with family and close friends and, how nice it is to be able to turn to your mum and say in a whingy, juvenile voice - mu-um i can't iron shirts as well as you can, puh-leeaase will you iron this one for me (complete with ear to ear slightly pleading grin...... and yes, i realise how extraordinarily stupid i have just made myself sound).
Anyway, it was fab having mum around (did I just say fab?!) and I will miss her loads. And all I can say is, thank goodness Dad was in Brussels to condone my beer-drinking despite the protestations of my mother.
Brussels, as an aside, is a very cool city. I can't imagine that you would be able to have an action-packed week there, but for a weekend of Moulles, fine Belgian beer in copious quantities, and restraint-impairing chocolates I can hardly think of anywhere better. I also dined on the best and poshest chip and sausage sandwhich over which I have ever cast my eyes, in a place called Fritte Paradise, or something similar. Fritte as in Pomme Fritte, meaning chip (in french, I think).
Fans of dance music might also be surprised to hear that I heard remarkably cool sounding electro pumping out about the place, everywhere that I seemed to trot. There also appeared to be a number of impromptu outdoor dance events happening on the Saturday night - somewhat random, but tres cool. Mmmmhmm.
What else, what else? Oh yes, Labour conference!
Well what an experience that was. It made me realise how comparatively clueless I am about British politics as compared to the Oz situ. But it is also quite interesting to be told after the fact that you just brushed shoulders with a cabinet minister without realising it.
I scored possibly the best deal possible in terms of a conference - as an international guest (and hilariously, sole rep of the ALP!) I had invites to all the wicked international events as a 'sister-party' member, and rubbed shoulders with the PM on a couple of occasions (well as much as you can when you have his security entourage between you and he) and was also lumped in with all the random foreign dignatories who were invited - i.e. Ambassador's and High Commissioners from here there and everywhere. My Belgian counterparts and I had a good laugh on several occasions as we couldn't believe our luck!
The PM's speech was a highlight, obviously. I didn't think it a flawless performance, but it certainly did many things on many levels, and was an impressive feat of speech writing. The Q & A session for international guests with 4 cabinet ministers present was another highlight. We had the Foreign Secretary, Development Secretary, Home Secretary and the Defence Secretary all together answering whatever was thrown at them. Intriguing and impressive.
People who call the Cabinet here a brat-pack are seriously underestimating the intelligence of these people. I wish the ALP had comparable talent to play with.
I also attended several very interesting fringe events, which are basically seminars put on by NGO's and think tanks debating every topic you could possibly imagine. I am such a nerd, and I have given up denying it, but I particularly enjoyed a debate on whether 'individual aspiration kills communities'. I could write another entire post on that session, but basically, I was interested to see entirely different conclusions drawn to what I was expecting.
But after the speeches were finished and the fringes over each day, the real fun began. Free receptions with plenty of wine on hand, and plateful's of fried finger food to soak it up. Hobnobbing, chinwagging and stumbling ensued each evening, with the inevitable plod home through the rolling curves of the Bournemouth coast to my hotel.
Anyway, conference was a great experience, and I hope to wangle my way in somehow next year. I shall spend some hours sitting at the desk in my new room, tapping my fingers together in a Mr Burns-esque way, plotting my return.
And it is going to take hours of plotting, because I have a new job. Same firm, but a step out of immigration and into a role that is going to entail a fair amount of travel to Eastern Europe, a bit of hobnobbing and chinwagging (hopefully sans cheap wine) and obviously, some legal work too. Very exciting, and starting in 3 weeks.
Finally, and least importantly, as many of you are obviously aware - it was my birthday a while back. I have reached the inglorious milestone of a quarterofacentury. Bleurgh.
So, though this has been a slightly lengthy apology for my lack of output, I hope that it has been worth the wait. Sadly, probably not.
Don't forget the photostream for associated pictures!
This is my time.
I haven't blogged very much lately.
But in my own defence, may I just say, that is has been a rather busy period.
To being with, I moved into my new flat on Tuesday. Many of you would have received the email updating my contact details, and the London savvy amongst you will recognise that the title of this post is a reference to my postcode. Ahem.
Anyway, I am sharing with a German girl who is a product designer (this is her website) and a Greek boy who is in finance. Thus far it has been cool. My room is pretty comfortable and I am personalising it bit by bit. It's in West Kensington which sounds a bit posher than it is, but it's great for transport etc etc, and I think I have stumbled on a pretty good deal.
So what are my other excuses?
Well, Mum was here for a fortnight, which consumed my time a fair bit. We had a great time, traipsing up and down the country and across to Belgium for a weekend too. Even though it hadn't been too long since I last saw my folks, having them around certainly reminds you of such things as; how restrained your personality generally is when you aren't with family and close friends and, how nice it is to be able to turn to your mum and say in a whingy, juvenile voice - mu-um i can't iron shirts as well as you can, puh-leeaase will you iron this one for me (complete with ear to ear slightly pleading grin...... and yes, i realise how extraordinarily stupid i have just made myself sound).
Anyway, it was fab having mum around (did I just say fab?!) and I will miss her loads. And all I can say is, thank goodness Dad was in Brussels to condone my beer-drinking despite the protestations of my mother.
Brussels, as an aside, is a very cool city. I can't imagine that you would be able to have an action-packed week there, but for a weekend of Moulles, fine Belgian beer in copious quantities, and restraint-impairing chocolates I can hardly think of anywhere better. I also dined on the best and poshest chip and sausage sandwhich over which I have ever cast my eyes, in a place called Fritte Paradise, or something similar. Fritte as in Pomme Fritte, meaning chip (in french, I think).
Fans of dance music might also be surprised to hear that I heard remarkably cool sounding electro pumping out about the place, everywhere that I seemed to trot. There also appeared to be a number of impromptu outdoor dance events happening on the Saturday night - somewhat random, but tres cool. Mmmmhmm.
What else, what else? Oh yes, Labour conference!
Well what an experience that was. It made me realise how comparatively clueless I am about British politics as compared to the Oz situ. But it is also quite interesting to be told after the fact that you just brushed shoulders with a cabinet minister without realising it.
I scored possibly the best deal possible in terms of a conference - as an international guest (and hilariously, sole rep of the ALP!) I had invites to all the wicked international events as a 'sister-party' member, and rubbed shoulders with the PM on a couple of occasions (well as much as you can when you have his security entourage between you and he) and was also lumped in with all the random foreign dignatories who were invited - i.e. Ambassador's and High Commissioners from here there and everywhere. My Belgian counterparts and I had a good laugh on several occasions as we couldn't believe our luck!
The PM's speech was a highlight, obviously. I didn't think it a flawless performance, but it certainly did many things on many levels, and was an impressive feat of speech writing. The Q & A session for international guests with 4 cabinet ministers present was another highlight. We had the Foreign Secretary, Development Secretary, Home Secretary and the Defence Secretary all together answering whatever was thrown at them. Intriguing and impressive.
People who call the Cabinet here a brat-pack are seriously underestimating the intelligence of these people. I wish the ALP had comparable talent to play with.
I also attended several very interesting fringe events, which are basically seminars put on by NGO's and think tanks debating every topic you could possibly imagine. I am such a nerd, and I have given up denying it, but I particularly enjoyed a debate on whether 'individual aspiration kills communities'. I could write another entire post on that session, but basically, I was interested to see entirely different conclusions drawn to what I was expecting.
But after the speeches were finished and the fringes over each day, the real fun began. Free receptions with plenty of wine on hand, and plateful's of fried finger food to soak it up. Hobnobbing, chinwagging and stumbling ensued each evening, with the inevitable plod home through the rolling curves of the Bournemouth coast to my hotel.
Anyway, conference was a great experience, and I hope to wangle my way in somehow next year. I shall spend some hours sitting at the desk in my new room, tapping my fingers together in a Mr Burns-esque way, plotting my return.
And it is going to take hours of plotting, because I have a new job. Same firm, but a step out of immigration and into a role that is going to entail a fair amount of travel to Eastern Europe, a bit of hobnobbing and chinwagging (hopefully sans cheap wine) and obviously, some legal work too. Very exciting, and starting in 3 weeks.
Finally, and least importantly, as many of you are obviously aware - it was my birthday a while back. I have reached the inglorious milestone of a quarterofacentury. Bleurgh.
So, though this has been a slightly lengthy apology for my lack of output, I hope that it has been worth the wait. Sadly, probably not.
Don't forget the photostream for associated pictures!
Monday, October 01, 2007
Unabashed Gloating
I was on the Eurostar to Brussels when I found out that the Power had lost the GF by an unprecedented margin. And I have to say, it was with outright glee that I read the SMS from Aunty Mel telling me so.
Sucked in Power.
Anyway, I have been pretty slack on here lately, and I apologise to my loyal readers (mainly my grandparents I think).
I am leaving Brussels tonight, bidding my Dad adieu for now, and then Mum is helping me move into my new place tomorrow. She leaves the following day, and so ends a whirlwind trip!
I have lots to write about Labour conference which I went to last week - was wicked. But I cant do it now so until later.
Bye bye!
Sucked in Power.
Anyway, I have been pretty slack on here lately, and I apologise to my loyal readers (mainly my grandparents I think).
I am leaving Brussels tonight, bidding my Dad adieu for now, and then Mum is helping me move into my new place tomorrow. She leaves the following day, and so ends a whirlwind trip!
I have lots to write about Labour conference which I went to last week - was wicked. But I cant do it now so until later.
Bye bye!
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Beady Eyed Early Morning Hard Core People
Well, up there with the weirdest things I have done in London thus far, this morning I woke up at 4.30 am after two hours sleep, and headed down to notorious antipodean bar the Slug at Fulham to watch the Crows.
So random. Pity about the result. It's very irritating being in close quarters with the supporters of the victor right after you lose, that's for sure!
But even more random was the fact that a) there were about 100 people thereat 5am in a pub NOT serving alcohol to watch the match and b) I bumped into two people I knew! One was a guy I worked at Woolies with back in the day, and the other was my old upstairs neigbour in Norwood. So strange!
I now feel sorta sick as my body is a bit confused about whether it is day or night - I have slept most of the day y'see!
From L-R - Leigh, Me, Neegs, Geoff.
So random. Pity about the result. It's very irritating being in close quarters with the supporters of the victor right after you lose, that's for sure!
But even more random was the fact that a) there were about 100 people thereat 5am in a pub NOT serving alcohol to watch the match and b) I bumped into two people I knew! One was a guy I worked at Woolies with back in the day, and the other was my old upstairs neigbour in Norwood. So strange!
I now feel sorta sick as my body is a bit confused about whether it is day or night - I have slept most of the day y'see!
From L-R - Leigh, Me, Neegs, Geoff.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Hellenic Holiday
Somewhat depressing is the fact that I am writing this post, 6 days after getting back to London, but that it feels like I have been back in this tube-strike-ridden city a lot longer. (Yes there is a tube strike - it took me 3 hours to get to work this morning - and yes, I did want to cry when I finally arrived). The fetta has finally left my system. Just.
No matter. Greece, in case you haven't worked it out, was awesome. It is one of those destinations that I had been imagining going to for so long, that when it actually happened, I had to pinch myself to confirm that yes, I was actually there, and yes, it was actually as beautiful as I had imagined, if not more so.
I flew overnight, on a bizarre short-hop which I coped unexpectedly well with, especially given that the crazy Greek air hostesses insisted on gallivanting up and down the fully lit cabin the whole time.
I ferried out to Ios to meet my friend, and found the ferry ride excruciating, as I had barely slept and couldn't get to sleep in the smoke-filled cabin (aaaah Europe - liberation for hamstrung British smokers). But I wasn't disappointed when I arrived. The view from the hostel was divine and in London would be well out of my price range, but not in Ios, ohhhh no.
After a dip in the sparkling jewel-like Mediterranean (beware - it is so salty it makes bleach blonde hair like a haystack) I essentially headed straight for the pool, where I commenced tan-o-rama, drank some beer, fell asleep in the sun. By coincidence Kevin Yost was playing a set there that evening (some of you may know him??) and so as day turned to night, fabulously attractive Europeans of all stripes danced in their bikinis, boardshorts, and if they were Spaniards of the male variety, their alarmingly brief speedo-style jock bathers.
Dinner was a late one, cut prematurely short by my rapid-onset comatoseness, brought on my 2 hours of sleep the previous evening, sun, and beer.
The next day the routine was repeated, without the alcohol as we had to ferry over to Santorini in the afternoon.
A note on Greek ferries - they are often cancelled, and as we discovered, you don't tend to find that out until the last second. Handy. Nonetheless, we got there in the end, only a couple of house later than planned.
The hostel in Santorini was awesome - tucked away right near the main strip - close enough to revel, far enough to be able to sleep afterwards. Santorini is in one word, breathtaking. It is beautiful in that 'yep (long exhale) I'm in the Greek islands' kind of way. Whoever decided to build towns into the side of cliffs before scaffolding was invented was a total madman, but equally, a visionary. The sunset from those cliffs, as those of you have viewed my pics will know, is heart-meltingly beautiful. Pity you can't get a decent glass of wine to drink as the sun goes down.
A note on Greek wine - don't drink it! ;-)
Pottering through the streets of Fira and Oia was a total treat. I tried to get some pics to capture the spirit of the thing, but I failed really. Must be experienced to be understood.
So, I took a few miscellaneous notes (thankfully as I would have forgotten these things).
Caffe Freddo - delicious split-level espresso coffee concoction - drunk cold & sweet. Heaven.
Body consciousness - if only all women had the confidence of European women. Watching them swan about in all their imperfect glory - not only makes you think that they ARE perfect but rubs off on others less confident. Four days surrounded by that even made me forget about my little pot-belly, wobbly upper arms and a bit-too-solid thighs. I've obviously remembered them again now that I am home. But as I am a proud new member of the gym opposite work, wobble no longer shall I.
Angry Greek Men - my tried and tested travel technique is to , when i am unsure or lost, smile sweetly, speak in a slightly higher voice than normal and look as innocent as possible. It doesn't work on Greeks.
A note on Greek male restaurant owners- don't make jokes with them as you sit down to one of their tables. I was forced to gulp down a plateful of marinated calamari feeling like a naughty schoolgirl for trying to apply the above technique, and, god-forbid, attempting a lame joke.
So there you are. You can blame brevity on tube-strike-induced fatigue. Happy to put travel-agents hat on for those of you who want to ask questions, and are contemplating a potential visit.
Mum gets here soon.
I am house-hunting.
Work is weird.
Greece was tops.
No matter. Greece, in case you haven't worked it out, was awesome. It is one of those destinations that I had been imagining going to for so long, that when it actually happened, I had to pinch myself to confirm that yes, I was actually there, and yes, it was actually as beautiful as I had imagined, if not more so.
I flew overnight, on a bizarre short-hop which I coped unexpectedly well with, especially given that the crazy Greek air hostesses insisted on gallivanting up and down the fully lit cabin the whole time.
I ferried out to Ios to meet my friend, and found the ferry ride excruciating, as I had barely slept and couldn't get to sleep in the smoke-filled cabin (aaaah Europe - liberation for hamstrung British smokers). But I wasn't disappointed when I arrived. The view from the hostel was divine and in London would be well out of my price range, but not in Ios, ohhhh no.
After a dip in the sparkling jewel-like Mediterranean (beware - it is so salty it makes bleach blonde hair like a haystack) I essentially headed straight for the pool, where I commenced tan-o-rama, drank some beer, fell asleep in the sun. By coincidence Kevin Yost was playing a set there that evening (some of you may know him??) and so as day turned to night, fabulously attractive Europeans of all stripes danced in their bikinis, boardshorts, and if they were Spaniards of the male variety, their alarmingly brief speedo-style jock bathers.
Dinner was a late one, cut prematurely short by my rapid-onset comatoseness, brought on my 2 hours of sleep the previous evening, sun, and beer.
The next day the routine was repeated, without the alcohol as we had to ferry over to Santorini in the afternoon.
A note on Greek ferries - they are often cancelled, and as we discovered, you don't tend to find that out until the last second. Handy. Nonetheless, we got there in the end, only a couple of house later than planned.
The hostel in Santorini was awesome - tucked away right near the main strip - close enough to revel, far enough to be able to sleep afterwards. Santorini is in one word, breathtaking. It is beautiful in that 'yep (long exhale) I'm in the Greek islands' kind of way. Whoever decided to build towns into the side of cliffs before scaffolding was invented was a total madman, but equally, a visionary. The sunset from those cliffs, as those of you have viewed my pics will know, is heart-meltingly beautiful. Pity you can't get a decent glass of wine to drink as the sun goes down.
A note on Greek wine - don't drink it! ;-)
Pottering through the streets of Fira and Oia was a total treat. I tried to get some pics to capture the spirit of the thing, but I failed really. Must be experienced to be understood.
So, I took a few miscellaneous notes (thankfully as I would have forgotten these things).
Caffe Freddo - delicious split-level espresso coffee concoction - drunk cold & sweet. Heaven.
Body consciousness - if only all women had the confidence of European women. Watching them swan about in all their imperfect glory - not only makes you think that they ARE perfect but rubs off on others less confident. Four days surrounded by that even made me forget about my little pot-belly, wobbly upper arms and a bit-too-solid thighs. I've obviously remembered them again now that I am home. But as I am a proud new member of the gym opposite work, wobble no longer shall I.
Angry Greek Men - my tried and tested travel technique is to , when i am unsure or lost, smile sweetly, speak in a slightly higher voice than normal and look as innocent as possible. It doesn't work on Greeks.
A note on Greek male restaurant owners- don't make jokes with them as you sit down to one of their tables. I was forced to gulp down a plateful of marinated calamari feeling like a naughty schoolgirl for trying to apply the above technique, and, god-forbid, attempting a lame joke.
So there you are. You can blame brevity on tube-strike-induced fatigue. Happy to put travel-agents hat on for those of you who want to ask questions, and are contemplating a potential visit.
Mum gets here soon.
I am house-hunting.
Work is weird.
Greece was tops.
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