Finding Femme

Young Womens Porcelain and Pottery Appreciation Society

2011-12-28T17:55:00.000+11:00

Are you a young lady into porcelain, pottery and crockery?

Some friends and I have started a group called the Young Womens Porcelain and Pottery Appreciation Society. You can find us on Facebook here: http://www.facebook.com/groups/porcelainpotteryladies/

New Hair

2011-12-27T17:48:00.000+11:00

The guitarist in my band has new hair. I think she looks pretty spunky, myself. She showed it off at a gig we did in early December. This is a snap I took on my phone of her on the night.

Wedding

2011-12-23T17:47:00.000+11:00

I went to a wedding recently. Isn't my cousin gorgeous. It was a beautiful day and they are now off trekking around Europe.

Decorations

2011-12-22T17:45:00.000+11:00

Here are some phone snaps of my Christmas Tree this year. Getting close and I'm getting festive! Bring on the big day.

Ladies Bikes

2011-12-21T17:42:00.000+11:00

This is my new bicycle (Lekker, Double Dutch). If you love vintage bikes and have a new group on the go called:

Young Ladies Classic Bicycle Association of Ballarat

We are a social group for ladies with classic bicycles, residing and riding in Ballarat.

We are not prone to Lycra or working up a sweat. Instead, we prefer looking classy and exploring paths around the Ballarat area at a leisurely pace. We talk about avoiding helmet hair, the best tracks, and wicker baskets.

Don't own a bike? You're welcome to join if you just like classic bikes or you are looking to buy one.

You can find us on Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/classicbikeladiesballarat/

Here is my housemate's spiffy bike. She has a Schwinn Jenny.

Finding Femme in my family

2011-12-20T17:36:00.004+11:00

This is a picture of my grandmother (the baby), my great grandmother (holding my grandma) and my great great grandmother (front left). Talk about Finding Femme!

The Design Exchange

2011-11-02T17:30:00.000+11:00

I went for a look around at the last Design Exchange market. I can guarantee there will be some Christmas Shopping done there by me come the December event. Check out the stuff from Bok-Bok B'Gerk on Facebook (or check out their blog link on the left): https://www.facebook.com/pages/Bok-Bok-BGerk/170774349644747

They were one of my favourite stalls.

A pussy cat and a posie

2011-11-01T20:53:00.000+11:00

I got given some flowers. It's a simple posie from a friends garden and they are just the sort of flowers I like. Also pictures, my house-mate's cat. Her name is Babsie. I love fresh flowers. It's great to spoil yourself to some every once in a while. Get them from a garden or second to that a florist if you can. They last so much longer and are worth every cent.

New clothes

2011-10-26T14:05:00.000+11:00

Finally a blog with some pictures of the new clothes I've found over the last month. These are from the Vintage Fair, Mill Markets and eBay.

eBay

Mill Market - Daylesford

eBay

Mill Market - Daylesford

Vintage Fair

Mill Market - Ballarat

Book Repair

2011-10-19T22:21:00.001+11:00

Today at my placement in the Library I got to do a book repair on a Harry Potter book. For all my Melbourne Muggle friends, here is me returning a copy of The Order of the Phoenix to a reading ready state.

Pic Please!

2011-10-09T00:11:00.001+11:00

I've been using PicPlz to snap some pictures of things on my phone. Love the filters you can choose as well as the fact that my weighty SLR can stay snugly in its bag. Here are some of my recent pictures.

I went to the hairdresser today and I LOVE my new cut.

Me with my hair natural. Have a look at my new headband from Sportsgirl. A new addition to the wardrobe that didn't break the bank!

Is the word posie or posy? Someone gave me a bunch of flowers. I LOVE French lavender.

My house-mate's new bike, with her cat in the basket.

And just to rehash some old favourites I have posted before...

The lovely CAKE on Main Rd, Ballarat.

A snapshot from my coverage of The Pink Martini fashion show for Chitra's Closet.

The Eiffel Tower at night. First time I'd ever seen it in the dark. First time I'd been to Paris.

Hanging out in the shed with my Uncle. This day he was fixing a Jag XK 150.

Handmaking pasta!

New blog post coming soon which includes my latest vintage clothing finds and lots of pictures!

The Ballarat Vintage A-Fair

2011-08-22T23:18:00.000+10:00

Here are some highlight shots from the Vintage Fair on the weekend. I managed to snap a couple of pictures of some gorgeous outfits while I was there, as well as some of the attendees. Enjoy!

Some of the gorgeous women running the show. You may recall the lovely lady on the left from my pics of the Fashions In Time cocktail party. I took at least 20 photos of her hair (which was amazing). A few of which made it into my blog post about the event. You can check it out here. In fact you'll probably recognise a few faces from the fair on that blog post...

Loved these colours!

Pictures of my purchases will be coming up soon. If you went, I'd love to hear about what you bought.

Perch

2011-08-08T08:52:00.018+10:00

Perch, a photo by Tina + Wolf on Flickr.

I'm in an all girl band called Kohl. We like to play heavy music and work up a sweat on stage. We have also been slaving away at an EP for what seems like forever. When we were a short while away from releasing our EP, one of our members moved bands and we went back to square one. A year later, here we are with the finished product, ready to get it all printed. Yesterday I was sent the first draft by the designer we have chosen and we're all very chuffed. I'm looking forward to showing everyone later in the year when everything is wrapped up. Until then, here are some examples of her fine work. You will find her on Flickr under the title Tina + Wolf.

Flying Owl, a photo by Tina + Wolf on Flickr.

Kohl

Promote your Page too

Cupcake Decorating

2011-08-04T22:45:00.000+10:00

At the end of the cupcake decorating class, I had 5 colourful cupcakes.

One with spots. This one was possibly the coolest one I made.

One with sparkles and piping.

A pink one with chocolate bits and a swirl.

One with stars. I even coloured the icing myself.

And a ladybug.

One of his little antenna broke off.

I had a lot of fun and made a lot of mess. I'm also crossing my fingers that I can do the Cert III in Patisserie next year.

Some cool things I have discovered thanks to this class:

Le Kitchen in Ballarat teaches the Winton cake decorating method. They also sell a HEAP of decorating stuff.

You can get baking, cake decorating and pop cake equipment online at Cakes Around Town.

I also stumbled across this on their website...

That is a cake tin to make a Giant Cupcake shaped cake. They are marked on the website as Coming Soon for $39.95. I drooled over it for a little while this afternoon. About 2 hours ago in Kmart, I found one the same for $6.

Things I love on Flickr

2011-07-28T19:29:00.017+10:00

www.something-blue.net, a photo by LightsCameraScream on Flickr.

Via Flickr:

something-blue.net

El reflejo del amor, a photo by Rusix on Flickr.

Phoenix - Art Nouveau Headband, a photo by M3g4ny on Flickr.

Vintage Pearl & Cameo Cupcakes, a photo by Victoria's Kitchen on Flickr.

Debbie Harry (Blondie), a photo by cerise9 ♫ on Flickr.

have a cupcake to sweeten up your day., a photo by Gaby J Photography on Flickr.

Untitled, a photo by cue the sunset on Flickr.

Scotties Pillow Cover, a photo by Bustle & Sew on Flickr.

thatgirlcalledelsiebelle., a photo by elsie has one wish on Flickr.

I've got heaps of favourites but I can't blog them all (due to reposting restrictions). So please have a look on my flickr favourites here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lianasmooz/favorites/

Afternoon Tea

2011-07-28T15:44:00.000+10:00

On Saturday and Sunday afternoon I enjoyed an Afternoon Tea session at The Vintage China Company.

If you read my blog regularly you will have already heard of them. They are a cute little cafe and tea rooms located not far from my house. They have a large selection of loose leaf tea, available by the pot and cakes to boot. My current favourite is their Chocolate Bread and Butter Pudding. I've so far had trouble taking a picture of it before I've eaten it. There is a smart selection of cakes, scones, biscuits, cupcakes, cheesecakes, muffins and more. All on display in a beautiful glass cabinets, glass jars, and tall cake plates.

If you've never been to The Vintage China Co., let me explain my affection for this place. You cannot sit in there without being romanced. Especially after 3pm when the winter light sparkles through the windows and gilds the flowers on display. There is something so timeless about holding a tea cup with your elbows on a table covered in a cross-stitched table cloth, listening to the voice of Ella Fitzgerald. Or even on the really dark winter days when dusk seems to come early, the fairy lights sparkle in the corners of the room and smell of Geneovese coffee being freshly ground drifts on the air. Or walking through their room dedicated to china trios, following the scent of a nice sachet of potpourri. The Vintage China Co. is an experience.

They are also a shop, and most of what you can set your eyes on is for sale. They have a great collection of artificial flowers and have arrangements available for weddings. So sitting amongst these displays is really something. The ceilings are hung with flowers and bunting. No part of the rooms are ignored.

The rooms are also bursting with home decor in soft pastels and classic styles. Shelves and mantlepieces are busy with birds ornaments, bird cages, bird houses, garlands, fairy lights, painted woodork, ceramics, glasswork, and more. Each perfect for brightening and warming rooms at home.

They have accessories for the kitchen, such as a range of aprons for grown ups and little people. There is also a range of babies clothes, toys and cot decor in one corner. It's quite cute, with little flower bunches made from baby singlets, and the happy faces of old fashioned toys smiling up at you.

There is also a large selection of crockery, tea pots, cups, saucers, plates and bowls. For display or for use, you decide.

All of this is located in an old weather board cottage, renovated from its days as a milk bar and turned into a home of bright, happy things. Having afternoon tea there is a popular affair on the weekend, with one point on Sunday being particularly busy and people cheerily browsed through the treasures while awaiting a table.

If you're tempted to pop down this weekend, save some Earl Gray and Chocolate Bread and Butter Pudding for me.

Vintage China Co. is located on the corner of Doveton and McCarthur St in Ballarat.

(03) 53322123

http://www.vintage-china.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheVintageChinaCompany

Cupcake Decorating Anyone?

2011-07-21T19:47:00.000+10:00

The University where I study has just announced a Cupcake Decorating Class for beginners. I'm very excited because cupcakes are fun and I've made a mess in the kitchen a couple of times trying out some inventive decorating. Last time I got all inspired from my book Hello Cupcake which I got for Christmas...

and I made Golden Snitch cupcakes for a Harry Potter party.

What I will be doing is a one night course and at the end of the night you get to come home with 4 - 6 cupcakes to show off.

If you are interested, then the course will be running for one night only at the University of Ballarat - SMB Campus on Tuesday 2nd August. 6.00pm - 9.30pm. The course cost is $70.00

Participants must bring their own apron, piping bag, star and petal tip nozzles and a container to put their finished cupcakes in to take home. I am concerned that I won't be able to decide which apron to wear.

Places are limited. There will only be about 12 places available.

I've uploaded info you may need to Google Docs and you can find it here:

Course information
Credit card authorisation form (if you can't get in to the campus in person to pay)

If you need any more info, you can contact the Uni directly via phone or email.
1800 811 711
info@ballarat.edu.au

Make sure you tell them where you heard about it from. :)

Cath Kidston wish list

2011-07-18T20:51:00.000+10:00

Here are some new arrivals and some old favorites I have my eye on.

British Birds Day Bag

Country Rose Day Bag

Country Rose - Napkin Set

Dotty Teapot

The Crafty Squirrel

2011-07-11T21:24:00.001+10:00

Today I made up for last weeks disappointment with a trip to The Crafty Squirrel.

I track down the shop and rush in out of the bitter wind and am greeted by the owner, Morgan.

"Is that Cath Kidston?" she asks pointing to my handbag.
"I thought that when I first saw it too!" I laugh. "No. I bought it in Paris. It's a cheap French knock off." I'm delighted by this. I'm normally the one asking if something is 'Cath Kidston' and no one knows what I'm talking about. On a train to Paris I asked a Japanese girl that very question. That time it was Cath Kidston, but she didn't even realise, which really disappointed me.

I smile. I'm enjoying myself already and I haven't even started looking around.

I ask about the opening hours for the shop (Fridays and Saturdays only). It turns out that during the week Morgan trades under her name 'Morgan Wills' as a wholesaler, producing stock for up to 60 clients Australia wide.

She originally ran her business from Melbourne but a change of scenery has brought her to the snoozy city of Ballarat and into the new shop front that is The Crafty Squirrel.

She has a great selection of items for sale including some of her own creation.

The shop is small, bright, colourful and warm. You can find the shop open on the corner of Errard & Urquhart Streets, Ballarat Central from 10:00-5:00 Friday and 10:00-4:00 Saturday.

Find the Crafty Squirrel on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Crafty-Squirrel/149703465083754

The full set of pictures can be found on my Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lianasmooz/sets/72157627168096904/with/5925916602/

On Flickr today

2011-07-10T22:13:00.000+10:00

# 1, a photo by Najla Abdullah on Flickr.

This photo is France in a nutshell.

Cake

2011-07-09T21:08:00.001+10:00

Taking a friend around town wouldn't be complete without taking her to Cake.

Cake is located at 30 Main Rd, Ballarat. It's next door to a sexy pizza bar, and an antique store and across the road from my favourite vintage store.

If you want to check them out for yourself, kiddies are welcome! There is a fun corner with toys, chalk and little chairs to keep them having fun while you sit down to the business of having a coffee or catch up with a friend.

They also sell some baked goods and baking goods. If their red velvet cupcakes inspire you, they have bowls and measuring spoons and recipe books for you to peruse.

Their website isn't finished yet, but I'll update you with a link when it is.

Until then you can find them on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cakebakeshop

The Red Brick Gallery

2011-07-05T22:59:00.001+10:00

My dear friend Mel came to visit me in my home town of Ballarat today.

I was very excited as she hasn't lived here for years and a lot has changed. It's funny in a small city, expecially one you have lived in for so long, how much you presume things don't change. When I got back from Europe after a mere 6 weeks I was surprised to see entire buildings and businesses had shot up, intersections has been changed and I was reminded how quickly things left undone can be snatched away from us. I took Mel to explore some little delights before I no longer had the opportunity to do so.

First on the agenda was a spot of tea at the Vintage China Company. Then we went on a mission to search out the new Crafty Squirrel. On the way there we found ourselves at the Red Brick Gallery.

We didn't go upstairs, but we did gaze over the treasures in the downstairs shop.

All of the shop's items are wicked, fun and there are also some outstanding original pieces throughout. Some of the items I have only seen at the Red Brick so I highly recommend a look through. On a day of bitter cold winds and sideways rain the shop was also beautifully warm and bright.

You can find The Red Brick Gallery...

Online: http://redbrickgallery.com.au/
Blog: http://theredbrick.blogspot.com/
Online Shop: http://redbrickgallery.com.au/category/the-emporium
In person: 218a Skipton Street, Ballarat 3350

Make sure you go down and say hello to Steph. It will brighten her day and her pink hair will brighten yours.

The Pink Martini

2011-06-30T22:23:00.000+10:00

Getting back from Europe has had its ups and downs. Settling back into the routine of everyday life has been a challenge and it was extra nice to recieve a call from Chitra inviting me to another fashion show. Chitra is the inspiration, passion and energy behind Chitra's Closet. If you've been reading my blog for a while you will have heard of Chitra and some of the fun I've had exploring her designs and you can see my previous posts about her label here.

I of course said a resounding yes to attend the show held in Brunswick. The location was just down from her shop. This time I also made my sister and sister in law come along and at 5pm Friday I was in a mad dash to my sister's house after work, trying to pull of my ID tag whilst talking on the phone and juggling arm fulls of bags, hair spray rattling. A ridiculous rush ensued and the three of us packed into my sister's two door hatch, mostly dressed and made up. Driving in dusk is frustrating when you're still not used to wearing glasses and my sis and I took turns seeing who had a worse squint without glasses.

A long drive and a bag of chips later and we arrived at the show with plenty of time to get settled, look around and rub shoulders with some of the fabulously dressed attendees. There is an amusing moment where my sister changes her clothes in the car while we stand in front of the windows to give her privacy. She squeezes into a copy of the dress worn by Big Red in Madmen. She looks to die for especially with the seams running up the back of her stockings as she walks.


The gorgeous Lilli Hingee was part of the show. Her blog can be found at: http://frocksandfroufrou.com/

The theme for the evening 'The Pink Martini', is James Bond inspired. The dress code is: dress to impress James. Chitra finds me after a little while and asks about our drive before whipping off to keep things spinning. It seems like a long wait especially after such a long drive but eventually the show starts. The music starts with a James bond theme and some very sassy gents coming down the stairs in suits and sporting pistols. Bond is given a mission to track a spy known at 'The Pink Martini' in a casino in Singapore. James is warned that there are plenty of beautiful woman at said casino. Cue gorgeous models. The show also features a contempory dance piece and a live rendition of Big Spender.

This time I was in a better position to take snaps so enjoy!

Chitra, the master behind the show...

We ended the night with a long look around the shop, delighting over clothes with complete strangers then finally departing for another long drive home. And hell yes, it was worth the drive.

There is something completely charming about stepping off a street chilled with Victorian winter weather into the warm snuggle that is a crowd of fashion lovers admiring a local designer.

Want to know more about Chitra's Closet?

Web: http://www.chitrascloset.com.au/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Chitras-Closet/10143912927

Also, check out Lilli Hingee cause she's gorgeous!

Twitter: http://twitter.com/frocksnfroufrou
Web: http://frocksandfroufrou.com/

Vintage Opulence

2011-06-21T16:05:00.001+10:00

IMG_4581-2, a photo by vintageopulence on Flickr.

Here is a nice picture from someone I follow on Flickr. Love the colouring of this one.

Me in Paris

2011-06-21T13:23:00.002+10:00

Me in Paris, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Taken from the balcony of our hotel room in the Latin Quarter.

I just got copies of my friends pictures today. Very excited.

Joy Ride

2011-06-20T23:35:00.001+10:00

Joy Ride, a photo by johnxlewis on Flickr.

This picture makes me smile

New at Lark

2011-06-16T21:45:00.001+10:00

It's always a nice surprise to get at newsletter from Lark.

This latest email brings some lovely eye candy, which I am extra excited about since seeing all the bikes in Europe. Lark are bringing back crochet with these bicycle dress guards.

You can browse or (if you can't resist) purchase them here. Find the shop www.larkmade.com.au

Rome. Milan. Nice.

2011-06-15T13:23:00.000+10:00

The morning in Rome begins with getting up early and heading to the train station for what we know is going to be a disgusting day.

The train ride to Milan does exactly what it is meant to do (get us from Rome to Milan) and an hour in the Milan station makes us forget the distinctive moments of the trip. After a while, you can't recall which train ride that really disgusting toilet was on or whether you sat near someone who snored. Milan is a little exciting though.

We eventually find the baggage room. If you ever travel to Milan station and you are looking for the luggage room, ignore the signs. It is not the the right on the first floor. It is to the left on the ground floor. Something I am looking forward to in Australia: correct directional signage. The Europeans just don't seem to get the left and rights and up and downs.

The luggage room brings on a wake up call. My bag weighs 32kg. Astrid's weighs 12kg. Aware that some rearranging will need to be done to get me safely on a plane, we shop for a couple of hours before collecting our bags and finishing the trip to Nice.

We maneuver my bag with it's two broken wheels along the main strip of Nice to our hostel and check in. Glorious salvation arrives in a 7 euro meal of ribs, salad and roasted spuds. Astrid and I savour every beautiful mouthful. I discover a Steinway baby grand piano in the corner and play for a little longer than I expect when a French woman with a cocktail keeps encouraging me to continue playing.

We wind up our evening with cocktails and youtube on my iPad.

In the morning we eat muesli for breakfast, which has big chunks of chocolate in it. There is no escape from chocolate in Europe it seems. Next we head off shopping to purchase ourselves hand luggage. When we finally get our hands on some bags within the size specifications we drop them at the hostel and wander the streets enjoying the weather and beach. The evening soon arrives and we spend some time doing the essential luggage rearrange and I manage to get my bag down to 22.5kg. My hand luggage is another matter clocking in at just under 11kg.

After an easy nights sleep and a rushed breakfast we make our way to the airport and I am relieved to find that the hand luggage allowance is 12kg.

Astrid and I wander the airport waiting for my flight and then part ways as she flies home in a days time. I don't really have any revolutionary emotions about leaving as it all seems like just another flight and I'm so used to getting on and off planes and trains now that I'm still just going through the motions. It will be strange not to wake up and have Astrid their, as we have been together almost every day for a month. We wave at each other from across the hall, knowing the next time we see each other, it will be at home.

Rome

2011-06-06T06:10:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Rome

2011-06-06T06:09:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Pantheon - Rome

2011-06-06T06:08:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Note the red marble used in the raised platform here.

Vatican City

2011-06-06T06:06:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Vatican City

2011-06-06T05:59:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Pantheon - Rome

2011-06-06T05:57:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Vatican City

2011-06-06T05:56:00.001+10:00

Vatican City, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Rome III

2011-06-04T21:37:00.000+10:00

For our final day in Rome we wake up early and head to Trevi Fountain. We arrive when they are cleaning out all the coins. The fountain is off and police patrol the boundary of the seating to prevent anyone from stealing the money. Finally the fountain is turned on and we take some pictures and throw coins into the fountain. I notice some Australian money in the wallet of a woman as she is foraging for coins and say hello.

We stay and chat to the woman for some time and recommend the previous days tour of the Vatican as she and her friends are heading there today. We then buy a drink at a nice cafe and enjoy the sun and the view. On the way to the metro we come past a beautiful bag shop and after some debating Astrid walks out with a gorgeous Italian made bad depicting a Dutch woman with some windmills and tulips. We return to the hostel to deposit it safely on our room.

Next stop, is back to the area around the Vatican to shop. After our feet are exhausted we again go back to the hostel and get ready for dinner. As it is our final night we are meeting our Swedish friend again for dinner, but this time he has brought a fellow student from his language class. The three of us make our way to a nice bar and sit outdoors to enjoy pre dinner drinks. We discuss Australian culture and explain sections of Crocodile Dundee to them before moving on for dinner.

The restaurant is not crowded with tourists and the menu is completely in Italian. We select wine and food and continue our discussions of culture and travel through two courses. I have some sort of asparagus goo followed by the most delicious duck I have ever eaten. Astrid's picks from the menu are not so lucky as mine and she ends up with octopus followed by wild boar.

After dinner we walk to Piazza Navona and stand beside the Fountain of the Four Rivers with a throng of people enjoying the nice weather. The Angels and Demons film depicts the Piazza as empty at night, but apparently it is always packed after dark with peddlers, tourists, locals and great food. We discuss the statues and each of the great men representing each great river. I state that The Man from Snowy River is not there and this turns into a discussion about Australian poetry, where I am dredging up what I can recall from Year 12 Drama. Then we go to the Pantheon where we buy gelato. The night wraps up with a bus ride back to our side of town where the gents walk us back to the hostel to ensure our safety.

We get to bed much later than we planned.

The very early morning is followed by a disgusting day on the train. The view from the window is nice; Italian countryside slipping by and open ocean, but being immobile is frustrating and makes everything ache. Astrid and I are tired of being stared at. Everywhere we go, the train, the station, the shops around it, Italian men stare openly and unashamedly at us. They don't even look away or check themselves when you make firm eye contact. The constant attention is very unnerving, some instances more so than others. The Italians don't stare like the French or the Spanish and often the look they have is openly predatory. At one point the night before I was terrified that we would be followed by a man from the bus who was standing over Astrid's chair staring at me in a way that really frightened me. Fortunately our friends walked us back to the hostel and the man vanished into the night.

Rome I & II

2011-06-03T21:27:00.000+10:00

Breakfast consists of coco pops and cordial. I tell Astrid as I brush my teeth later that I've developed ulcers in my mouth. She says she has them too, and that when she gets them they are caused by bad eating and stress. If that is what has caused mine, that would make perfect sense. At least our breakfast doesn't have Nutella as well. This is the price you pay for an included breakfast in a hostel.

We begin our adventure with the colosseum. We take the option of a guided tour, as we don't know much about the area and think that it will help us get a stronger grounding in the history needed to put the structure in context.

The tour is bad. It's hot. We can't hear the woman talking. Her English is patchy. We finish the finish the tour and debate weather to look at the Nero display or meet the guide for the next part of the tour. We aren't having fun, so we go straight to where we have been told to meet our guide and the group is no where to be seen. We wait for five minutes until the the exact time of our meeting and still nothing. The next chance for the rest of the tour isn't for an hour and a half. We wait for 45 minutes then give up. We have better things to do.

Next we go to the Spanish steps. The hot sticky air is full of the smell of roasting chestnuts, roses and garbage. Here, the people selling parasols and roses are extremely pushy. It is impossible to take a photo of each other without getting one of them in it 'Lady! Lady! You buy rose, one euro. Lady!' forcing umbrellas and wilting flower into our hands.

We walk away from the steps to look around at the shops then catch the bus to the Pantheon. Rome has 'mini' buses that can hold 22 standing people. They are zippy little electric things that weave up and down the cobbled streets.

We finally find the Pantheon and enjoy a cold drink and half a sandwhich in the shade then wander in to look at the architecture. Next we find the bus stop again and wait for an excessive amount of time for the bus. When we get back to the hostel we are glad of a chance to sit down and relax with the air conditioner on.

We head out for dinner again with our Swedish friend then find a nice bar to sit outside and talk history and music and culture. It reaches midnight before we know it and we go back to the hostel, looking forward to sleeping in.

We start the next day with another gross breakfast and a trip to the Vatican. We pay a little extra for a tour (very hesitantly as we have had our share of bad tours) and for once we are not disappointed. Our guide is a gorgeous woman with endless information about the items on display and we are given in ear monitors to hear her wherever we are. We walk straight from the Vatican to St Peters Basilica where I tie some scarves around my waist to gain entry. The scale of the building is intimidating.

We go back to the hostel and buy some pizza for tea, then have our washing done for us at a laundromat nearby. A lazy evening is spent reading, watching YouTube and eating chocolate.

Venice II

2011-06-02T21:25:00.000+10:00

The morning in Venice is filled with the sounds of pidgeons cooing and startled ducks taking flight, of water lapping against the side of the building, bells chiming out of time and tune, and the sight of a white cat out the window, stretching itself on terra-cotta tiles.

We eat our breakfast of (curse the carbohydrates) croissants and rolls and begin a leisurely Sunday walk to Piazza St Marco.

We don't detour much but decide to look in certain shops on the way back. The square is packed with people and pidgeons and hot air. We buy ourselves some parasols to keep the sun off us, which only works so well in a crowd of people that have no idea where they are walking. I take some pictures and we head back the way we came to the quiet streets. I get some aprons embroidered for my family which is incredible to watch. The woman directs the machine by hand, shaping the italic lettering of the names with absolutely no room for error. She even nails the spelling of my sister's name with only one glance at my written instruction. She says she learned the skill in this very shop, on scraps of fabric. She is from Croatia and dreams of traveling to Australia one day.

We then buy a giant slice of pizza each and top it off with gelato and sorbet, and head back to the hotel for a nap. Sitting in our room is beautiful. The air flows straight in and you can smell fresh water and hear the boats cruising past. Today the temperature is 27.

After a short rest we walk the central part of Venice in a big loop. We see some cool things but don't buy anything. There are a lot of tourists on the other side of the city and lot more cheap shops with fake stock selling the same things. We're very glad we are staying where we are in the quiet streets with so many cool things to happen across.

After a rest, we head back out to locate a tapas bar recommended to Astrid by a friend. After we accidentally walk past it once, we end up looking inside with disappointed faces. There isn't enough room in there to swing a cat.

We locate another restaurant on our map that has also been recommended to us, and head off in the right direction. The right direction is only so right for so long. We soon lose ourselves in the area of the map with no street names. This is because it isn't a tourist area. Finally, we know where the real citizens of Venice live. We use the canals as guides and when we finally locate a square that is marked on the map, we are literally around the corner from the restaurant we want.

It's funky and seems to have great atmosphere so we walk in and are - eventually - given assistance. The rude waiter allows us to sit down and very soon we are given menus. The staff seem too run off their feet to notice the usual table waiting cues and we finally catch ones attention to take our order. She raises her eyebrow at the item I point to and also won't give Astrid the 1/2 wine she ordered (Astrid is forced to stick to the 1/4) but we have ordered, and that is better than we were five minutes previously.

Astrid's meal comes fashionably early. It consists of spirale pesto which has been unceremoniously dumped onto a plate. The flavour is fantastic though. When mine finally arrives I'm lucky I'm feeling adventurous. My pasta sauce is black. There is something with tentacles chopped up amongst it. Squid ink, I guess, with the squid included.

I've wondered about this dish before and always thought I would never have have the guts to order it. Now, it is in front of me and I'm about to find out what I'm made of. I twist up a large forkful and take a bite. It's pretty tasty. I try not to look at it too much as I chow down. When I start to feel full my childish subconscious reminds me what I'm eating and I can't seem to take in anymore. It's a strange sensation. The food tastes great. The squid is tender. Holy moly what am I eating?

We try to get the attention of the staff to get the bill, but the staff seem incapable of making eye contact with anyone in the room. In the end we figure out we have to go up to a certain table to pay. There are a large number of people with this same agenda however and it results in us spending 10 minutes being snapped at by staff and moved forward and back, left and right so they can get to the service counter to get food. Astrid and I are about to walk out without paying, because there is no way we can pay, when finally we are helped by a staff member who seems like he would know what he was doing on a better day. He feigns generosity by taking 1 EUR off our bill. We pay and depart as quickly as we can.

We get a little lost finding our way back to the hotel in the dark. Astrid's feet are hurting and the streets seem unfamiliar. We take a wrong turn and find an old man having a makeshift shower on one of the main streets. He has removed his shirt, but left on his braces to hold up his trousers and is laying down newspaper so his knees don't get wet as he kneels beside the fountain. I slip my camera into my bag before we pass him by. When we figure out what direction we need to go, we walk back past the man, who is now shampooing his hair under the running water. I wonder what his story is, as we leave the street behind us.

Back in the room, we spread on mosquito repellant and open the windows wide to the cool canal air. We hear the strangled cries of a water bird, and crashing and splashing as someone handles the climb into a boat badly. It's now only 26 degrees. I lay on the sheets, trying to sleep.

Venice

2011-06-01T21:20:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

It can be hard to appreciate the individual prettiness of every corner of Venice when you are there, but this is what it is like everywhere in Venice.

Venice

2011-06-01T21:18:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Canal front shop front.

Venice

2011-06-01T21:17:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Venice

2011-06-01T21:16:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

A female gondolier guides her gondola through some quiet canals in Venice. In the front are and Australian couple drinking champagne.

Venice

2011-06-01T21:14:00.001+10:00

photo.JPG, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

My glamorous tourist sun hat. So wearing this next Spring in Australia.

Venice I

2011-06-01T06:16:00.001+10:00

We leave Geneva in the early morning by train. I sleep on and off for the first few hours but still get to take in the incredible scenery that is the Swiss Alps. The emotion I feel watching the roads and bridges and rivers slip buy is akin to a cello playing in my chest. All romantic notions soon fade. The train ride is too long. 7 hours of uncomfortable slumping and we finally get our first glimpse of water. My back is screaming by this point.

Here, Astrid's bag proves useful as mine is ridiculously awkward to carry. Carry it I must, over one and a half bridges of stairs. The walk to our accommodation is very easy, aside from this and soon we are checked in and ready for a walk.

On the corner next to our hotel is my new favorite shop. They sell the exact jumpers I've been wanting since last winter and I have a small meltdown over them, knowing I'll be getting back to a chilly home town. We walk through the streets, feeling as though each alleyway is our own little secret, each shop is an undiscovered treasure and that Venice is letting us walk through the folds of her own bodice.

The moment is only ruined when we are following a bride from a safe distance, so as not to ruin her wedding pictures, and a large group on a guided tour march directly between her and the camera, table tennis bat held in the air so the Americans can see where they are walking. She shares a patient look with her father, then after the group passes, continues her walk to the church where the bells begin to chime for her.

I buy us some sun hats as the winter one I bought in England is too heavy for this heat. Astrid complains about how big her head is, as hats never seem to fit her. We also purchase some carnival masks. All our wandering works up an appetite and we then find our way to a restaurant recommended by one of the men working at our hotel.

The restaurant is not yet open so we walk further in search of mosquito repellant. The setting sun and gradually cooling air releases the fragrances of the surrounding city onto the streets. It is in these aching minutes that I find my sister.

The musk of potato jasmine humming in the air, just like when we would play in the garden in summer. Freshly cut wood, from a carpenters, like the smell of our grandparents best couch. Something else I can't define, that smells of her skin. I feel like walking faster, like the echo of my foosteps are really hers and I am slowly catching up to her. It's as though I could step around the corner of the next alley and see her hair caught in the light, standing there waiting for me at the next shop window. I imagine her eyes held on the most incredible mask on display. Her features set as she sighs, stubbornly deciding that she will take it back with her, no matter what she has to throw out to get it safely in her case. I could turn to look for her now, but I would break the spell.

Astrid and I go to dinner in an outdoor courtyard. We are both unsure of what we order, but that is half the fun. There are a couple of surprises when our meals arrive. We split the bill then head out onto the street again. We pass the window of a glass blower. He is at work moulding the glass and Astrid and I enter the shop to watch him craft it tenderly into the shape of a fresh cherry. She spots something wonderful for her mother and the man wraps it with bubble wrap then gift wraps it, to ensure it's safe journey. I wonder if he is the man who crafted the small glass heart my sister carried with her all those years ago. The Heart of Venice, she called it.

Back at the hotel we write in postcards and take off our makeup and prepare to sleep. The sounds of Venice at night echo into our room: a violin playing, boats moving up the canal, people laughing. I feel like blowing the city a kiss goodnight.

Geneva I & II

2011-05-31T06:14:00.000+10:00

We take a long unremarkable train ride to Geneva. The only remarkable thing about it is the last hour spent winding through mountains in Switzerland. Our hostel is a clean and professional one located a short walk from the station.

Once settled in, we head out to take a walk around. Here, you can spend Euro, notes only, and receive Swiss francs change. It's a strange system and we end up keeping track of our Swiss francs, having no desire to lug around another useless currency. Then we meet our new roommate, a Hispanic American, just moved over to work in Geneva. She misses her American food and hates the language, but she can speak Spanish because she's Hispanic. She also hates it when people come into the room and stay when she's like, living here. She also interjects into our discussion planning for Rome because, like, what religion are we, because she's Hispanic so obviously she's catholic but not practicing. Then she guides us in a biblical history lesson about who Mark is, like, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. I don't tell her I learned that much from reading a fictional text like, Angels and Demons. She did mention she's Hispanic?

This hostel has a kitchen that we can use so we decide to cook tea. I cook while Astrid does the washing. On the menu for us, is tacos followed by all the Swiss chocolate we can eat without vomiting. We can't sit up in bed watching QI as the Internet is too slow.

We open the windows of the room to the muggy night air, which is fragrant with the smell of rain on hot asphalt. Thunder rolls across the city. I lay in my bed, melting dark chocolate in my mouth and reading Jane Austen.

We enjoy a lazy morning then decide to wander around the city. We buy chocolate croissants (I will never eat them again when I get home) for breakfast then stroll down to the lake shore.

Along the pier we walk we find nesting swans. The male sits nearby the nest, protecting it, while the female warms the eggs, then turns them, then warms them again. One of the nests has just hatched a little fluffy signet and they don't mind us sitting comfortably close to watch them all interact. We take in the view of the shore line and the Jet d' Eau from the end of the pier and walk through the city streets. Astrid buys some Swiss army knives, then we go down by the water to get some food. Astrid lucks out with a really nice hotdog, but I get the most disgusting attempt at a cheese and tomato baguette. There are two tiny pieces of tomato in it and a slab of cheese.

We shop around in the city streets until tea time, then Astrid makes us spaghetti bolognese while I do the washing. We repack our bags and go to bed early, a very long train trip ahead of us.

Amsterdam

2011-05-30T07:28:00.001+10:00

Amsterdam, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Amsterdam

2011-05-30T07:27:00.001+10:00

Amsterdam, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Amsterdam

2011-05-30T07:26:00.001+10:00

Amsterdam, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Rood - Amsterdam

2011-05-30T07:25:00.001+10:00

Amsterdam, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Amsterdam III

2011-05-30T06:12:00.000+10:00

Today we wake late and make plans around visiting the house of Anne Frank. Our first stop is the post office to send some items home. There is a very helpful man at the counter and we discover postage in Amsterdam is the most reasonable we have found so far in Europe. He also gives us a tube, for free, to package Astrid's paintings in. This is a big relief as we have been taking great care to ensure their preservation and it is one less thing to think about when jumping on and off the train.

We then go and have the same breakfast we had the day before. Food in Amsterdam is quite expensive so we think we are on a winner with our 5.50 plate.

Next we catch the tram to the house of Anne Frank. There is a long queue to get inside but it moves quickly. No pictures are allowed inside, so I have nothing to show you. The house as been restored where it can be, and quotes from Anne's writings are printed on some of the walls. There are also videos playing introducing you to the circumstances in which Anne and her family found themselves.

As you move through the house, you follow their story, right through to Anne's death in Auschwitz. On display are the actual records from the camp, with Anne's name as well as the documented arrival of her family. We look at the original papers with her handwriting on them and through her room with her Hollywood pictures still glued to the walls. In the final room is a reel of Anne's father speaking about how much he learned about his daughter in reading her documentation of their experiences. He concludes that he believes no parent ever really knows their children. It is a thought provoking statement.

We leave through the gift shop. I am hoping they have something I can take with me to hang on my Christmas tree to remember the feelings I had walking through the house, but they don't have anything. Astrid and I both purchase copies of Anne's book as neither of us has ever read it.

Our heads and hearts full, we go back to our favourite shop and buy more things, then go back to our accommodation and prepare our package to post home.

Back at the post office we have our box weighed. The man at the counter tells us we can save 50 EUR simply by taking out 600 grams and then let's us re-pack the box before sealing it. We also post Astrid's paintings.

On the way back to the hostel, I step into a graffiti shop and I search for a present for my brother. I have a short conversation with the guys working in there and they help me choose some cool but not cumbersome gifts to take home. Next we find a place for dinner. We decide against Italian and end up eating Mexican. I will call their food "coriander surprise". I tell the waitress I am allergic to coriander and when my meal comes, it is three soggy corn tortillas, packed with cheese and coriander, coriander seasoned salad and garnished with coriander. It seems they simply removed the sauce from the tortillas, taking the meal from average to lame.

We leave the restaurant and head next door to get a paper cone of chips with mayonnaise. This is absolutely delicious. We munch on them all the way back to the hostel.

After packing and going to bed, we are all disturbed again by the Italian couple who see it as their duty to have tickling and wrestling matches and to whisper frantically and then to smooch. I get suspicious as their usual smooching can be heard for a kilometer radius and they seem to, for once, want to go unnoticed. I hold my water bottle ready, prepared to douse them if their smooching turns into anything less appropriate. It doesn't and finally the male of the couple moves himself to a separate bunk. When the two of them stop whispering, we drift off to sleep.

Amsterdam II

2011-05-29T06:11:00.001+10:00

We wake up to the sound of concrete being jackhammered. Works on the downstairs renovations of the hostel begin at 8am. We guess this is as good a sleep in as we are going to get. Combine that noise with the ruckus of the Italian lover couple who also prove themselves to be the loudest speakers in the world as the slam their cases open and shut and have sexy shower time together. They are so unsubtle that when the man opens the bathroom door, one of the Canadian girls remarks on having seen the italian girls bare downstairs bits.

Astrid and I are glad to be out of there and we walk well away from the red light district before we start thinking about food. We find a little cafe that serves an English Breakfast for 5.50 and sit down for a while. After breakfast we are about to head to the Anne Frank house when we realize the free walking tour we wanted to do begins in 20 minutes. We head back to the main square instead.

The tour is popular this day, and we end up in a group of over 50 people. It begins with an explanation of the national monument. The monument has a large phallic tower the sticks out of the ground. By this point in the visit I am wondering why this too is not just turned into a giant willy, as everything else in the city seems to be. As it turns out, the monument houses ashes from each of the battle fields of World War 2. Once a year, the Queen comes down to the monument and lays a wreath for all the fallen Dutch. Another cool thing we find out is that Dutch royalty were originally a group of elite merchant families, which were overthrown by the French (I am no scholar on Dutch history, be advised) and eventually the French were overthrown and an elite merchant family became the ruling power. This family are still the ruling monarchs today. We learn some interesting facts about the red light district and hear an anecdote about someone on a previous tour being doused with a cup of urine for taking a picture of one of the prostitutes. Photos are not permitted, obviously.

The tour moves on for over an hour when they announce a coffee break for half time, but by this point we have had enough. All I can smell is dope and piss and I'm sick of feeling like I'm standing in people's way. Astrid and I take a detour from the group and head back to the accommodation for a nap. I put my pajamas on to get away from the smell of urine permeating from my jeans where they were dragging on the ground.

After a nap, Astrid and I sit down to discuss our circumstances.

We are not staying where we would like to be. Amsterdam is smelly. So far, the only advice anyone we know has given us is 'get high and look at prostitutes'. We have three days to fill. What can two tasteful girls do in Amsterdam if they don't want to smoke dope and get blow jobs?

We 'put our big girl panties on' and head back out for a lunch run.

The first cool shop we find is a tea shop. Inside it smells like dried apples, cinnamon and freshly ground coffee. They sell their own mixes of tea in a variety of flavours, as well as incredible tea cosies. I desperately want to buy one but I'm trying to budget my money, especially after spending so much in London. We feel refreshed and move on.

Next is a shop called Rood (likely Dutch for Red) which only sells red things. This shop is gorgeous. It's full of tasteful shoes, table cloths, tea towels, frames, the list goes on. If it is red and gorgeous, this shop seems to have it.

Next is a bakery. They make fresh fruit smoothies and you can buy fruit sticks, like a kebab with fruit, and have them covered with real European chocolate from their chocolate fountain. They also sell a great selection of in house made gelato and sorbet. Astrid gets a smoothy and I get a tray of hot Dutch pancakes with fruit, topped with strawberry sorbet. We sit in there for some time enjoying the smells of dark chocolate and pancake mix, then head on.

It is then that we find our favorite shop around a corner we have never walked. The shop is full of incredibly cool innovative designer items for the home. There are: iPhone app magnets, pacman doormats, mounted cardboard moose heads, marshall amplifier headphones, babushka doll purses, scrunchable fabric maps of major European cities, giant tree wall decals, amazing recipe books, Polaroid photo frames, vintage TV photo frames, and my favourite, a wall dedicated to cool photography stuff. I fight a serious urge to buy and post home a massive boxed set with a hobby camera and all its available attachments. There are also fish eye cameras and a heap of different films. When the store eventually closes, we leave feeling very inspired.

Hungry from our days adventures we wander through the streets and settle a little unwillingly on more Italian. I order minestrone and Astrid orders bolognese. To our delight the food is brilliant as well as well priced.

We walk through the darkening streets, taking pictures and enjoying the sights but make sure we are back at the hostel by dark.

We have discussed our expectations of Amsterdam and the trip in general and how our experience differs from it. We have also discussed other people's expectations of our travel. It's a real challenge to be all the way over here and have to deal with people's presumptions.

The best advice I was given by anyone was when my Uncle said to me, 'You will get homesick.'

It has been a real challenge trying to deal with the difficult emotions of homesickness, travel depression, anxiety, fear and loneliness, when no one back home wants to hear a bar of it. It can be a case of reaching out for support, or just to feel like you are not alone, or just to feel ok about feeling down, but the reaction you get makes you feel guilty or bad about having those natural emotions.

Most people think you need to get out there and have fun, that every moment of the journey should be bliss, and that if it isn't that way you are obviously doing something wrong. I am a very complex human being. I can be having the most amazing experience and still miss my mother. I am perfectly within my rights to do so. It does not diminish my experience. It is no different to wishing my mum was there to share the great cup of tea I'm having at our favourite cafe. It doesn't make the tea any less fabulous.

It is also a challenge to deal with the presumption that I am going to come home with an entire new wardrobe. I have always known I was not coming over here on a shopping trip and that 6 weeks is a long time to finance food and a place to sleep. When I say I am going to London I hear 'Ooh, London! You'll love the shoes in London.' Thousands of years of international history, and people suggest I will love the shoes?

One of the hardest parts of not shopping has been not buying people gifts as I am a serial gift giver. I have bought some for my immediate family, but have had to tell myself sternly that I can't afford anything more and that my great friends will understand. I do worry though, about the friends that won't.

Gifts for other people aside, I do wonder what people think of me and my habit for buying shoes. A habit I kicked, like my book buying habit, to save for this trip. I (unlike many suggestions made to me) do not watch sex and the city, and have never really got into it. I am not a slave to fashion. I could give or take Jimmy Choo's. I like fashion, but only the bits that interest me. This means I have not walked into every shoe store over here salivating and needing to ice my credit card. I came on this trip for the experience.

Presumption is something that I was surprised to have to deal with a lot over here. For example, the presumption that because I have an opinion that suits me, I think other people should share that opinion because it is the right one. For instance, I don't like Twilight. I may sarcastically say that I judge people for liking Twilight, however I think that someone else's delight in it is just as valid and just as right as my dislike of it. Just because I don't like it, does not mean I don't value people who do. If I didn't, Astrid and I wouldn't be getting along so well.

I've now had to experience daily at a high level the need for acceptance, tolerance and understanding. Notably, in the lounge of our hostel where people from different cultures are meeting. Plenty of travelers ask rude questions about people's religious beliefs or why they aren't married. I have already had uncomfortable discussions with young men who have disapproved of me traveling (note: as a young woman alone and independent) and see me as some sort of slurry because I'm young, not married and not interested in having children. The fact that I "know things" has disgusted them, and they have been completely unwilling to accept my opinion as being valid.

Being over here and surrounded by so much presumption has made me a lot more aware of being ok with my own opinions and decisions and feelings, even and especially when they are not the norm. So if there are some things I have learned so far in Amsterdam it's that I don't find it fun to stay in the red light district. I don't smoke at all. I don't appreciate passive smoking. I don't like the smell of marijuana. I don't want to buy genitalia shaped salt and pepper shakers. I am also perfectly ok with this. I am perfectly unperturbed by what anyone else thinks of it too.

Today has been a much better day. This is the Amsterdam I want to know.

Amsterdam I

2011-05-28T06:10:00.002+10:00

We catch the morning train from Paris to Brussels and then find our connection to Amsterdam from there. It is cold in Brussels but the connecting train has some seriously over compensating heating. We wonder if we will see snow, since the heating is so high.

Because of having come from Brrrr-itain we are wearing plenty of layers. These are soon stripped off and we sit in jeans and shirts on the verge of fainting. It is a relief to get off the train and to our surprise we don't find snow, but it is a bit cool. The Dutch seem to have an obsession with heating.

Our first impression of the Netherlands is a good one. The train slips past green countryside, streams covered in lilly pads, windmills and endless cycle paths. Amsterdam is very different to this. Tall grey buildings stand against a grey sky. Pidgeons and gulls glide overhead. Trams clatter past, dinging their bells. We get our bearings and catch the train a little way up.

A traffic officer gives us some directions, which turn out to be completely wrong and we wander through the streets around the station looking for street signs and wondering what sort of area we are walking in to. We have two maps. One clearly marks the red light district, and according to it we are standing in it, and the other map, this from our accommodation, says that we are not yet in it. Because of the neon signs advertising live sex shows for 2 EUR, we trust in the first map. This is disappointing, as it shows our accommodation to be on the main street of the red light district. Astrid and I share a look, before soldiering on.

After a few more loops we spot our hostel and make our way to the nearest canal bridge to get there. The prostitutes ignore us, but rap their knuckles on the windows at passing men, curling their fingers at them and shaking their thighs. The girls wear swimsuits and raver leg warmers and French nickers, though not all of them at once. None of them are naked. You don't get anything for free here.

Our hostel is between a skanky live porn house and a sex shop. We check in and make our way up to our room. The hostel is Hollywood themed and our room is painted black and orange, for A Clockwork Orange. It is at this point that we both begin commenting on the smell. It started when we got off the train, and we seemed to have become aware of it as the hostel brought no relief from the stench, as we thought it would. It wasn't always the same smell, either. We smelled rotting fish and seaweed at first, then putrid mud and piss. We smelled sewage and smoke and now we smelled bad cleaning products.

We are not alone in our room, so we can't take a moment to come to terms with our surroundings. A couple is asleep together on one of the bunk beds. Presuming they are jet lagged and tired we leave them in peace and go back out to the street. We get directions from the woman at the desk of our hostel to find the best shopping strip in Amsterdam, and turn our feet in that direction.

We are both hungry, tired and suffering from serious culture shock and when we spot a McDonalds (even though we both can't stand it) we step inside and order something familiar. The feeling of something familiar and safe, is a great feeling.

Next we go shopping. We buy nothing. All the clothes seem to be the season before last season. The tourist shops are full of willy shaped salt and pepper shakers and booby mugs. To top it all off, the shops all seems to close at 5pm. We make it to the part of the shopping strip where you begin to see repeats of the stores when everything is shut up. Our adventure is over before it has gotten off its feet. We head back to the hostel.

It's here we meet some canadian girls that are happy to go out for dinner with us. We all decide an Italian restaurant. The food is terrible and over priced, and a little after dark we start walking back. The girls are interested in walking around the red light district. We agree, simply because it is safer walking as a group of four. The streets are crawling with tourists and groups of young men. I am disturbed by how many children are being led around by their parents. There is nothing glamorous about it. There is nothing humorous about it. I have no desire to buy the services of one of these women, or to point a giggle at them like plenty of the tourists around us. I know what the prostitutes are here for and I really have no place in these streets, surroundand by young males eyeing off the prostitutes and the women around them, and backlit photos of sodomy.

We leave our Canadian friends at the door to the hostel. We don't feel safe enough to keep walking around.

To our relief we are alone in the room this time and we get to openly discuss our thoughts on our surroundings. There is a lot to think about (and not think about) and we gratefully get into bed. The beds are very comfortable and have real bed covers. The room isn't exactly the cleanest, Astrid can see where something has been spilled down her locker and never wiped up. There are no bed bugs though, which is more than we can say for the reviews we have found regarding our upcoming accommodation in Venice. We use our evening time to search for something else and finally find a well reviewed 1 star hotel a short walk from the Venice station. We email them and cross our fingers.

The couple that were in our room asleep show up late at night and don't give anyone else in the room the respect that was given to them when they were sleeping earlier on. They giggle and whisper loudly (seriously, these two could win awards for national loud whisperers of the year) and they climb about on the bunks making as much noise as physically possible. We all shrug off their behaviour and presume they are drunk or high.

Today has been ... interesting.

Oxford

2011-05-28T04:22:00.001+10:00

Oxford, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

The Bridge of Sighs

Oxford

2011-05-28T04:21:00.001+10:00

Oxford, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Testing out my new 60D

Oxford

2011-05-28T04:19:00.001+10:00

Oxford, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Sweet peppermint tea

Oxford

2011-05-28T04:18:00.001+10:00

Oxford, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Punting on the river

Oxford

2011-05-27T16:24:00.000+10:00

Due to the lateness of my evening the night before, I let myself sleep in for a bit in the morning. After another rushed buffet breakfast of cereal and toast, I head off to where I have been directed by my friends to catch the Oxford Tube. Why they call the bus the 'tube' confuses me. The bus has wifi and I take the opportunity to update my blog and say hi to family on Facebook.

Soon enough we pull into Oxford and my friend Graham is there waiting for me. We begin to wander through the streets of Oxford and I'm soon in a shoe store trying on heels that Graham says are too high for my own good. I spot one pair that I really like but they are broken and the attendant is brain dead and unhelpful so I leave and refuse to purchase anything from there.

The next stop is the best stop. We head to Graham's work, my other friend Johnny now joining us and I keep getting distracted along the way at the beautiful rivers running through Oxford, gilded with lilly pads and graced by ducks. Johnny seems to understand my fascination. Most rivers at home are gnarled and twisted like the roots of a gum tree and are rough and dangerous and muddy. They are as harsh as the country they cut through. These rivers are small, peaceful and seem almost still. Their water seems in harmony with the banks it touches, unlike our rivers where the riverbank is ground fought for, not coerced.

When we arrive at the shop I try out a Canon 60D camera. It doesn't take much as I have already made up my mind and before I know it I am filling out paperwork and picking a camera bag.

We go to Nandos for lunch. It is not until we get around the corner that I see a Jamie Oliver restaurant and could have facepalmed. The guys shrug their shoulders and say 'Oh yeah, I forgot we had that.'

Next, to try out my new camera, the boys take me to Christchurch to see the hall that is used for the set of 'the Great Hall' in Harry Potter. I also recognize part of the gardens from an episode of Midsommer Murders and tell myself to check it out when I get the chance to see if I am right.

Graham is absolutely useless to take shopping as he tells you to buy everything you show the remotest interest in. I withstand his encouragement and leave the shop with only a Christmas ornament and a tea towel.

The guys then walk me through the streets of Oxford pointing out different educational institutions. Graham departs, which is extra sad as he has no intention of suffering through the long flight to Australia ever again. I send him off with promises of coming to visit soon.

Johnny takes me to a cafe/tea rooms and we drink peppermint tea, loaded with sugar talking about films with his friends.

By twilight I am back on the bus. The sun dips down low on the horizon and the green of the surrounding world begins to change to gold, and then grey. I watch the little white tail of a bunny disappearing into the verge. The warmth of seeing friends is a talisman against the cold for the short walk from the final bus stop, to the hostel.

London III

2011-05-26T16:23:00.000+10:00

The morning begins with a sleep in and then and a hostel breakfast consisting of coco pops and toast with jam. All I can say is thank Merlin there was no Nutella. All of Europe seems to eat, drink and snort the stuff and by this point the novelty has worn off (but the potbelly has not).

What to do on a chilly morning in London, apart from dress sensibly? I say this pointing fingers at Astrid's friend Natalie who is a local Brit and thinks it is perfectly ok to go out in a breezy spring dress. When questioned about this by me she was practically looking for open grassy patches to start sun baking. I remarked that technically there should be at least one inch of blue in the sky to call it sun baking.

We head off, Astrid and I in jackets and cardigans, for the Portobello Road Market. The stalls are just finishing setting up when we arrive and we meander through the smells of vintage leather, roses, musk and (this is London) occasionally rubbish.

Astrid buys another painting, but she pains over this one as we haven't been able to post her last one yet and it is becoming very inconvenient to carry around without squashing. I spot an incredible feathered headpiece but I am NOT lugging it halfway around Europe and instead get the contact details of the woman who hand crafts them with the intention of having it posted home.

I buy a gorgeous vintage style hat to keep my head warm and to keep the rain off my face, glasses and hair. We trawl through the vintage clothes and then buy pasties to keep us warm.

Market adventure complete we traipse off to the British Museum as I am set on seeing the Rosetta Stone. I explain what the Rosetta Stone is on the underground trip to the museum to Natalie and Astrid. I struggle to remember what I can from my Year 10 Egyptian History class. I am impressed by the size of the stone. All the times I have seen it have been in books on small pages so the the fact that it is as large as me only increases my awe. We also wander through the vast array of Egyptian artifacts held at the museum and ooh and aah and point things out to each other. I spot something that I've seen on the cover of a book at home. We walk through the collections of mummies. I hear a little boy say to his friend 'See how he looks asleep? He's sleeping, just like my Dad.'

We wrap up at the museum because of sore feet, not lack of interest, and I go back to the hostel and get ready to go out for dinner. After a good evening I decide to abandon my company and head back to the hostel.

The directions I've been given confuse me, but a fellow Australian guides me to the correct bus, which she also needs to catch. After some initial issues we end up on the same bus, which is heavily delayed due to a moonlight breast cancer walk across the city. Each bus takes us one stop further then terminates and kicks everyone off due to the lateness of their run. If London is cold during the day, it is bitter at night. For two hours this on again off again charade takes place leaving us chattering teeth in the cold night air. Five buses later and we are finally on our way.

The Australian I am with has, in the meantime, told me of some if her travel adventures, including a scary incident in Vietnam when she was attacked by a smuggler on the train for refusing to nurse a crate of spoons and bowls on her lap. She had a picture frame smashed over her hand whilst protecting her head and was prevented from being beaten severely with a plastic chair by some Swedish travelers who physically intervened. Just like that I have to leave her and get off the bus at my stop, not knowing her name, but wishing I never had to let her go.

London II

2011-05-25T16:22:00.000+10:00

To my great surprise the following day, friends of mine are traveling down from Oxford to meet us in London.

Astrid and I begin the day with a cruise of the Thames which heads up to Tower Bridge and back to the London Eye. It is here that we meet my friends, yet we go up in the eye alone. Astrid handles her fear of heights well and we are in line, on and off within 35 minutes. We meet back with my friends, have lunch, and then get down to business.

I have a mission for London and that is to visit a Cath Kidston store. The stores are only in the UK and Japan and I have only ever got to purchase anything from there online or from a shop importing their goods.

I am not disappointed. The guys offer to hold our bags (bliss!) and we shop till our floral hearts content. Next is around the corner to the Doc Marten store. I am looking for a particular pair of floral docs but I can't get past a pair with union jacks on the toes. Graham (the only Brit of the party) rolls his eyes but Astrid and Johnny (my other Australian friend) adore them too. I don't need much encouragement and leave with store with them tucked happily under my arms.

Astrid then leaves us to meet her friend Natalie and the rest of us head to Piccadilly Circus for more shopping. I am amused at the station to hear warnings telling all patrons to use the elevators for their own safety as taking the stairs is the equivalent of climbing a 17 story building.

Out in the open air I immediately begin noticing some great fashion. I'm busy checking out the outfits around me when I see one I adore. The girl is walking along wheeling a white vintage bicycle. She has a loose blue and white striped top on and white Ray Ban sunglasses. I don't see what trousers she is wearing as I can't stop staring at her face. I'm completely lost for words. It's Bonnie Wright.

I'm not sure what I am more chuffed about, that I liked her style above everyone else in the crowd before I knew who she was, or that I JUST SAW BONNIE WRIGHT AND WE WERE PRACTICALLY BREATHING THE SAME AIR. Damn not having a camera! The guys laugh at me and say 'That's Oxford St for you.'

We head to Abercrombie and Fitch, where I style Johnny and force him into purchasing two spiffy new tops.

We finish off the evening with Italian for dinner. The discussion covers my adventure so far and how people deal with stress and anxiety. We also discuss fear and where it comes from and how we cope in drastic situations. Time passes quicker in good company. It isn't long before the boys are showing me where to catch the bus to Oxford and sending me back to the hostel on the underground.

At my station there again is a warning to people to use the elevators as there is a large amount of stairs. Three people (with luggage) ignore the warning and head off up the nearby staircase. A girl near me snorts and mutters 'tourists'.

'They're probably French,' adds a man nearby. I chuckle to myself and smile all the way back to the hostel.

London I

2011-05-24T16:16:00.000+10:00

An early morning start to the day is followed by catching the train to London. I am ridiculously excited about meeting up with friends and also buying a new camera.

The British customs officer smirks at my emergency passport.

'You have it nicked?' he asks

'Yep.'

'In Paris?'

'Yep.'

'On the metro?'

'No,' he looks up at me with an eyebrow raised. 'In a McDonalds,' I tell him.

'Ah,' he says with a knowing nod. Stamp, stamp. Through we go.

I snooze for a little bit on the train and then watch the English country side rolling past the carriage window.

A short trip on the underground takes us to our hostel and we leave our bags behind to enable us to explore freely. Next on the agenda is a London pass and a ticket on a hop on hop off bus.

We start our bus tour and our first attraction is the Tower of London. I buy an average hot dog for 3.50 and roll my eyes at the price. It does away with my hunger though and we set of seeing the sights.

Crown jewels visited, Anne Boleyn beheaded, we head off and buy ourselves some fish and chips for lunch. Next stop, Buckingham Palace. We watch the beefeaters through the fence then go to view the Dutch landscapes in the Queen's Gallery. It is here that I first spend up big on things to bring home. I also buy a royal wedding mug for my Aunt that I stayed with in Spain.

Our next stop is Parliament house. We go there and then to Westminster Abbey and in the process buy more stuff. Once all the tourist things are over, we meet my old school friend Celeste for curry.

I have not seen Celeste for years and we all swap travel stories and compare our impressions of the cities we have seen so far. The night gets away from us quickly and it's not long until we are waving goodbye through the window of a moving train. We head back to the hostel and make plans for the morrow, our bags heavy with our purchases.

Paris III

2011-05-23T16:14:00.003+10:00

We wake up bright and early to get the the Louvre. All information indicates that the lines to get in are epic and we don't want to waste a day waiting in another queue. We get there 30 minutes before opening time and after a little bit of walking around we find the queue for people getting in with a museum pass. We meet some Canadians in the line who tell us how overrated the Mona Lisa is. I inwardly roll my eyes. What on earth do they expect it to be? A full can-can show?

There is a rush to get in when the doors open and the solid stream of people march towards the location of the famed portrait. This is amusing, as the French are terrible at signposting and the direction is not straight forward.

We get there without any fuss though, and there aren't too many people around when we view it. We take some snaps and then begin to wander through the exhibits.

We have an adventure finding the Napoleon Apartments. The signage is terrible, but eventually our perseverance pays off. There are very few people in the rooms. I presume this is due to lack of direction. We get to see some amazing royal jewels as well. The exhibition reminds me a lot of Versaille. We take a lot of pictures on Astrid's camera (which means you can't see any photos yet) and then make our way to the Sphinx. By this point, our feet are dying and we hobble around the medieval basement of the Louvre very ready to leave. I will say that the Louvre has a lot of seats, unlike most other French tourists attractions.

We planned to have lunch at Opéra National de Paris and make our way there immediately. It's a great relief to sit down and we share croissants and box drinks again. It isn't long before a group of men sit directly behind me, even though there is plenty of space free around us. They make a few comments that we can't understand but by their tone, they aren't being respectful.

Suddenly Astrid feels something pressed into her neck and turns around to find a giant face of a chicken inches from hers. She has been pecked on the neck by some random man in a chicken suit. We whips off his mask and near rips her croissant out of her hands in his desire to have it from her.

We have had enough and shift around to another side of the building. Soon the chicken man follows us and we end up having to eat out our feet.

Our next stop is the Galleries Lafayette. The expensive shopping centre is gorgeous and plenty of shops have their own bars. It is a little while before we are able to locate the only free chairs in the complex and we sit down enjoying a rest. I refuse to buy anything on the grounds that, if they wanted me to, they would have put more than five chairs in the whole building and we leave and walk past a Zara store. Astrid buys shoes, and I buy a dress and we head back feeling like our shopping expedition was not a complete failure.

This day deserves a long rest and we kick our feet up for a few hours before heading out to dinner in a little back street of the Latin Quarter. Astrid orders a cheeseburger, and I order pork fillet mignon with cranberry jus. The food is brilliant and Astrid tops hers off with cocktails which come served with a cake pop (lolly or cake on a stick).

The food is ridiculously good and we both give in to the temptation of cheesecake with berry sauce. It's worth every cent.

Just to make sure we haven't missed anything we wander back down to the
Notre Dame to look over the tourist shops again. We both end up purchasing little model French buildings to remind us of the French architecture and walk back to the hotel, ready to head to England.

Paris II

2011-05-22T16:14:00.003+10:00

We start the day with an early morning and a train stop at Tour de Eiffel. Astrid has previously admitted to being afraid of heights. This fear prevented her from taking in some of the sights at Park Güell in Barcelona. We discuss how we are going to handle the ascent of the tower and decide that the elevator is the best way to go.

We arrive 30 minutes before the opening and the line is huge. One tower is taking people for the elevator only, the other for only stairs. The queue for the elevator is at least 300 people long, while the line for the stairs is only 30. We decide to change our plans and ascend at our own pace via the stairs.

We take our time making our way up. Astrid stands on the very right of the stairs with both hands on the rail, purposefully looking directly ahead of her and no where else. I insensitively point out the grand view we have and she looks at me with a very controlled expression. I keep my observations to myself for the rest of the climb.

One hand over the other all the way up the stairs and this pattern of persistence pays off. We arrive at the first floor. The view is breathtaking, and quite literally so for Astrid. We take five minutes seated to allow her to come to terms with her height. 'Can you feel it sway?' she says to me more than once. I assure her that it's her swaying, not the tower. We perform a lap of the level and Astrid asserts that she is ready to climb again.

We move in the same fashion as before with me ahead and Astrid moving slowly, one foot then the other, one hand then the other. Twice I think she is going to lose her nerve. She is too focused to look up so she asks how much further. I tell her it's only three more sets of stairs, but I'm lying. Close to the second level the environment around the stairs changes and the stairs become open to the view of the surrounding streets of Paris and the chilly morning wind. Astrid pauses, then masters herself and powers on.

Her effort deserves a long sit down and we find ourselves a bench. She keeps passing me her camera all the while to take pictures for her. After a little bit she stands as steadily as she can and walks herself to some mounted binoculars. She hugs them, with her back to the view and asks me to take a picture of her for her mum.

We then go into the gift shop and are pleased that the quality of goods is much better than everywhere else we have seen in Paris. The high number of tourists in the shop reveals some bad traveller traits in some, with people literally snatching objects out of our hands as though they are the last Prada bag in clearance sale. Astrid and I roll our eyes at this. With the number of recorded visitors to the Eiffel Tower every year, I doubt they will run out of cheap scarves that say Paris all over them.

Shopping makes Astrid feel better about the height and our decent is much smoother. Because of the 'keep to the right' rule on all roads, stairs and walkways in Europe, Astrid is forced to keep letting go of the inner hand rail and move to the right to let people pass. She handles this worse than her brave peek over the side on the second level, so I become chivalrous and stand I front of her and refuse to budge if anyone comes up the stairs to meet us. When they are forced to walk around, grumbling about rude tourists, she is left in peace to make her way down comfortably. She is very glad when she gets her feet on the ground. We both feel very pleased with ourselves and may as well have climbed everest.

Next on the itinerary is a stop by the Arch du Triumph. We can climb it for free, but neither of us have any desire to do so. We admire the insane traffic and the scale of the monument from the ground, then head to Place Concord for a bite to eat. We share croissants salvaged from our breakfast at the hotel that morning and box drinks. Our aching feet are pleased for the break and we enjoy the gardens, the sun and the fountain without counting the minutes we spend there.

Astrid buys a print of a beautiful watercolor of the Eiffel Tower at sunset and we head off to Hotel Les Invalides, the tomb of Napoleon.

The tomb itself is the first thing we visit. We also wander through the adjoining church and then move onto an exhibit for World War. Seats are sparse, so we end up watching endless reals of war footage just to rest our feet. Half of the exhibition is lost on us, as most of the signs are only in French. To wrap up the afternoon we also wander through a medieval armor exhibition. Our sore feet make further exploration an unattractive prospect so we sit on the steps of the inner courtyard and rest.

It takes some time, but finally our feet are ready for a further journey and we head back to the district around the Notre Dame and have dinner in a Greek restaurant. We rest at the hotel for a few hours, awaiting dark and the lighting of the lights on the Eiffel Tower. Finally the time comes and we head back to where we started the day, just in time to watch the real thing sparkling in the night sky.

We sit for a little while in the grass below the tower with a thousand other tourists, enjoying the warm air and the feeling of cultural resonance. The sounds of laughter and music in the air reminds me of evenings by the Crown on south bank.

We don't stay too long as we have an early morning coming up, and head back to the train station. The train we need to take us home, however is not running to our stop and we have a late night adventure figuring out how to get home in Paris after 10.30pm.

When we get back to the Latin Quarter, the nearby Patisserie is open and we both purchase chocolate eclairs. The men serving us invite us in for beers, which we politely decline. Everyone in Paris is sleazy it seems. The eclairs are disgusting and we have thrown them out before we get back to the hotel.

Paris I

2011-05-19T02:21:00.001+10:00

I always fall asleep in the car, so an overnight sleep in a comfy bunk on a train comes naturally to me. The morning arrives slowly and we are awake long before we need to be. On arrival in Paris we are rushed off the train and it isn't until we make it to our accommodation that I notice my missing bag full of toiletries. Oh the inconvenience.

Astrid and I laugh heartily about this. There is always something with me it seems. Nothing of value is gone but purchasing make up and beauty products is hard enough in English. We later have some fun moments in the supermarket with the two of us squinting at bottles of hair product, trying to figure out what is shampoo and what is conditioner. We replace what we can't share and decide to save the rest for England.

Our accommodation is ready when we arrive, which gives us the opportunity to check in straight away. After setting ourselves up in the room we make plans for the day. First on the agenda is a shower. A real shower. No hostel bathroom. Complete privacy. Consistent water temperature. Be both feel much better and head out to buy Museum Passes.

Once we have purchased, we go to the Notre Dame and take a look inside. I got to see the Notre Dame the last time we were in Paris, but now Astrid also has the opportunity to compare the gothic styles of this church to the inspiring structure of the Sagrada Familia. The two do not compare, but when a lot of the ancient buildings you see when traveling are churches, it cannot be helped. I secretly hold the Sagrada Familia close to my heart.

After a look inside we await a walking tour. Astrid seems to have all the luck, and a passing pigeon drops a little wet missile on her. The tour is too long, lacks ambition and leaves us bored and over it. I take Astrid to the scarf shop I discovered when I was last in Paris and she buys herself two scarves. There aren't many things we feel like purchasing. Most of the goods aimed at tourists are poor quality, inconvenient for travel and tacky. We have Greek for lunch and head back to the hotel, ready to put our feet up.

Our room is in the grey roof of the building; the old servants quarters. This is nice, as we have a small 'balcony' which we can squeeze onto and look out over the Latin Quarter. The room does have a couple of drawbacks. One is that the elevator stops a floor short of our floor and, with our huge bags, we have to clamber up a steep spiral staircase. This would be easier if we weren't hampered by giggling.

A supermarket trip means we sit in our room eating baguettes with cheese, salami and tomato. The sky takes forever to darken. We throw the balcony doors wide open to let in the warm night air. As we drift to sleep we hear the loud sounds of the city rising up from the street: mopeds whizzing by, people laughing, cutlery scraping on plates. The warm air carries the scent of flowers and baking bread into the room. I can't help grinning, knowing I'll be waking to the bells of the Notre-Dame.

Barcelona II & III

2011-05-17T17:46:00.002+10:00

I take the train to the airport the next morning to meet Astrid. After some kerfuffle with finding the right terminal I manage to locate our meeting point. To describe Barcelona airport as a doughnut with the landing strips in the middle does not do the chaotic layout of the facility justice. Astrid is not at our meeting point and I fear I have it wrong. I check every taxi rank in the complex, and no Astrid. I look high and low and finally resolve to find an internet cafe and double check my information. This doesn't help me any and out of ideas I head back to our meeting point. I see her from the other side of the complex and dance like a git in the window but she doesn't see me, so I sprint all the way to where she is standing, tired and relieved.

We head back to the accommodation and then out for a stroll by the beach and market stalls, then we head to a cheap cafe for tapas, chips and eggs. She's exhausted and we have an early night so we can explore the next day.

By this time we have already been a target for pick pockets on the train. Thankfully, we are prepared and Astrid has all the zips on her bag padlocked. As we walk down the stairs into the metro, some guys walk behind us and attempt to unzip her bag while we're walking. I spot them, but before I can register what they are doing, they have slipped off into the crowd. We spend the next journeys on the train trying to spot the pick pockets. We learn to steer clear of people watching the crowd around them, instead of the arriving train.

The next day we go for a beautiful walking tour of the great works of Gaudi. Inspired, we buy some fruit and snacks and head to Park Güell for a picnic and stroll through the amazing grounds, then take an interior tour of one of the buildings Gaudi put his mark on. It is at this point that my camera takes a tragic turn. One of the CF pins bends when I try changing CF cards. I groan inwardly. Fortunately I have taken a great deal of pictures already including some of the breathtaking Sagrada Familia. I can't upload any of the pictures though, because of my camera troubles.

The story of Gaudi and his architecture moves me. There is such tragedy, beauty and - treasure - in his life and each of his works that I am blown away that there aren't more tourists crawling through the streets. The lines are short, the prices are reasonable and the weather is bliss.

I put aside my camera problem and we end up going out for dinner with Amy. The staff at the hostel recommend a little Italian restaurant in the backstreets of the old city, and we begin our walk there just on dark.

At the first turn we are approached by a man who wants us to hear him out about something. By habit, we ignore him and keep walking. Further up the street we notice he is following us. We keep ignoring him, but he continues his request until finally I stop walking and face him directly and demand that he go away. He doesn't like my assertion and tells me to keep my nose out of it as he wants to talk to Astrid. I immediately fire up, intent on protecting her and tell him that none of us desire to speak to him or to hear him out and demand that he leave us alone. He begins to threaten me and we roll our eyes and cross the street. Fortunately he does not follow. The streets of Barcelona are busy, and what he wanted and why he singled not only us, but Astrid out of the crowd is baffling. I keep my eye out for him all the way to the restaurant.

The food is delicious. We each order our own meal and then share. There is plenty of cheese and tomato and mushrooms. We share a bottle of wine over the meal and then make our way back to the hostel satisfied and laughing. Our chatter and giggles echo off the tall stone buildings around us.

Back at the hostel, I declare that I am not drinking, but no one seems to hear me. Soon, I have a small plastic cup of red wine in front of me. Outside it begins to bucket with rain and we all scurry across La Rambla to a small bar. The girls shout me a drink and I ask for lemonade. I get something with a double vodka in it instead. I decide to stop drinking anything at this point, as I know that my wishes not to drink aren't going to be respected. Astrid lets me have her leftover lemonade for the rest of the night. We stroll home at 3am.

We soon learn that drinking on the streets is legal. Not only that, the bar staff pour our drinks into plastic cups and kick us out. Men sell cans of beer on street corners. Astrid and I walk home linking arms, saying no to people wanting to sell us drugs and fanning away dope smoke.

The morning is not pretty. My one white, one red and double vodka turn out to be the ingredients for a potion called hangover. The humidity and heat in the bathroom and the fluorescent lights make me sick. I end up too sick to do any of the wonderful things we had planned. We find ourselves sitting on the pier in the sun, dangling our feet over the water and feeding the fish. I slowly recover and by about 2pm I'm well enough to eat and we go for Mexican. The food is great and after more fish feeding back at the pier, we eventually find our train to Paris and settle down for an overnight journey.

I have now decided that for the rest of the journey I will have no alcohol. Not even in moderation.

Barcelona I

2011-05-16T02:32:00.001+10:00

Barcelona I

I lost an entire day traveling on the train from Paris to Barcelona.

I use my kindle to eat into the hours of boredom staring out the window at a plain landscape and find myself drifting from the pages of Sense and Sensibility into Emma.

After getting familiar with the Spanish train system whilst staying with my Aunt, the trip from the station I arrived in onto the metro and to the hostel was an easy one. My new bag glided around on four wheels clacking as it rolled over the decorative tiles paving the Barcelona streets. At least the Spanish cater for persons that can't use steps in their Metro.

I check into the Hostel and settle in to a comfy couch to chill out. My cold has developed from slight sniffle to full blown face ache. I finally go up to bed and snuggle in.

I soon meet the girl on the bunk next to mine. Her name is Amy and to my absolute delight she is Australian. We sit cross legged facing each other with our blankets bunched around us chatting. She confesses to having a sore throat and decides to stay in instead of heading out for the obligatory party night.

We soon discover that we are both traveling alone. She has been gone as long as me but she has a trip of 8 months planned. We talk about all our experiences so far and laugh about the rocky start to my adventure. We talk until the light of the room dims to a dusty gray and both our throats are hoarse. Time flies past me faster than it has all day. She leans in to me and asks 'Does it get any easier? Do you think you get used to it?'

I hold my breath for a moment and search myself. 'I don't know,' I whisper back.

The question is like a chord being strummed. Each note making the chorus is made of the triumph, grief, fear, desire, loneliness. It's a beautiful chord. It's a song only heard through experience.

We have so many things to share. Not questions as such, but things to hold between us. We share the delight of meeting new and brilliant people, and the grief of every goodbye. We share the little hopes and possibilities sparked when connecting with a new friend and the longing the snuffing of at spark leaves behind. We share the guilt of admitting homesickness and the craving for a familiar language.

Our discussion is filled with sighs and smiles. We discuss what we expected our plans to be and how different our experience has been to that expectation. We discuss that the most challenging and amazing things we have seen over here, we have seen in ourselves. We have so many questions without answers. Do we want to know everything we have learnt about ourselves? What is it we wanted to find over here and when do you find it? I write in her notebook with a message she can carry with her: Come home found!

The hardest part about talking with her so casually is that we can count the hours until we will say goodbye and we both know it. We say goodnight clutching tissues for our snotty noses. It's a beautiful goodnight.

The streets of Paris

2011-05-15T02:50:00.001+10:00

The streets of Paris, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Taken from the window of a Starbucks. The girls did not own the bike, but they were sitting near it like it was a convenient fashion accessory.

Oscar Wilde

2011-05-15T02:49:00.001+10:00

Oscar Wilde, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

The resting place of Oscar Wilde. Paris.

I didn't kiss the stone. I had no red lipstick, and no desire to catch something.

Notre-Dame

2011-05-15T02:47:00.003+10:00

Notre-Dame, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

This picture is of the gothic lights hanging in the Notre-Dame in Paris. The church was beautiful and was it was fortunate that photography was allowed.

My favourite part of this photo is the TV screen in the background. Think of the lights as my expectation of Paris and France, and the TV as the reality. France is beautiful. So is Paris. The signs of an evolving city are everywhere, as are the swarms of tourists. You cannot move in Paris for tourists.

Giverny

2011-05-15T02:45:00.002+10:00

Giverny, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Before heading to Versaille, we had a rushed visit to the gardens of Claude Monet. There were original paintings hanging in the house that we got to see as we walked through. No photos were allowed in the house, so I have shared a picture of the gardens. I chose this one because it reminds me of Monet's art.

Paris again

2011-05-15T02:42:00.003+10:00

Versaille, a photo by lianasmooz on Flickr.

Versaille. This is the bedroom of Marie Antionette in the main palace. To the left of the bed is the doorway through which she tried to escape when when captured by members if the revolution.

I have not taken a picture of the door or the walls because you cannot see them for all the tourists. This room was hot, disgusting, sweaty, smelly, stale and noisy. Being in the room with such amazing art and design was overwhelmed by the horrible reality of what being in the room was really like. I would hate to go in peak season.

A Royal Wedding - then Paris.

2011-04-30T07:03:00.000+10:00

So today I enjoyed my last day in Spain for the time being.

I can confirm that the rain in Spain falls other places than the plain. It rained all day today. We didn't mind as we needed no encouragement to be shut in doors glued to the television for the Royal Wedding. It seems silly to chat about it as it seems everyone on the planet was watching it. There was a bizarre rumour circulating on twitter that 'Out of respect for her husband Kate wouldn't be tossing her bouquet, she would be laying in on Diana's grave'. I'm yet to see any sort of evidence for this silly claim.

It is tradition for royal brides to place their bouquet on the Tomb of The Unknown Warrior. On one of my random article trawls through Wikipedia I stumbled across the article once. You can find it here.

The body within the tomb is that of an unidentified warrior killed in battle during WWI. The only known details of the body such as where it was found have been kept secret to maintain the symbol that the body of the soldier represents, which is that of all soldiers that were lost and never named or never recovered during war, wherever they may have fallen.

The tomb is in Westminster Abbey. HRH The Duchess of Cambridge's path up the red carpet had a short detour around the tomb. If you watched the ceremony you will remeber at the beginning of her walk, the red carpet parted around a monument. That was the tomb.

There was an epic ceremony involved in the burial of the soldiers body (If the Brits can do something well, it's a ceremony). One of the points that moves me is that when the soldier was laid to rest in the ground there were 100 woman chosen as honoured guests to be present, all chosen because they had all lost husbands and and sons in the war.

When Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (played by Helena Bonham Carter in the film The King's Speech) married the soon to be King George VI in April 26 1923, she placed her bouquet on the tomb on her way into the Abbey, in honour of her brother Fergus who died in battle in 1915. Ever since this was first done by Elizabeth in 1923, every Royal bride to be married in the Abbey has laid their bouquet on the tomb, following her example in honouring those who died for 'King and Country'. Except later brides lay it on the tomb there on their way out, or the next day.

Diana is buried at Althorp House, Northampton, about 78 miles from London. Unless the Twitter rumour mill has become a bit excited by the recent information in the news that Kate lay flowers at Diana's grave days before the wedding, then I don't know where they come up with this stuff. Until all news articles begin reporting that 'contrary to all reports that the bouquet was to be laid on the tomb of the unknown soldier', I won't be believing it.

So after watching the fabulous wedding all day, I'm well prepared to arrive tomorrow in Paris. I'm a lot less nervous than I would have been a few days ago. I'm excited, because I love Paris. I love France. I love the idea of them and I desperately want to fall in love with them. I will admit that it was scary to think that I had to go back, but I must go back for more than just my itinerary. As terrible as my experience with Air France, Montmarte and my accommodation, these are not what the great artists wrote songs about, drank to or used for centuries of inspiration. I'm very ready to fall in love with Paris. Without doing so, I don't think it would be right to come home.

So I have a couple more pictures from Spain....

Do you like my new hat? This is a boater I bought from Pimpkie in Nice. I was not in a mood to shop. I stank. I looked hideous but I needed a hat to cover my hair. The only thing that motivated me to buy this was that my sister had once bought something from a Pimpkie store in Italy, and it made me feel a little bit close to her.

Hi! This is the outfit I wore out tonight. All happy and ready to head to Paris tomorrow.

This is the skirt of my Aunt's ferrier dress. These are worn by woman at festivals in Spain. I didn't get a full snap of the whole dress (sorry). It did weigh a tonne. All those layers of ruffles.

This pocket is where you keep your camera and money. It's in the built in petticoat under the skirts, right near the hem of the dress.

Anyhoo, I'm off. Hopefully my next post will be from Paris. I can't guarantee there will be pictures, but I promise, I'm working on it.

xx

PS Sorry for any spelling and grammatical errors. It's late. I'm tired. Internet explorer does not have built in spell check.

Leather and Spain

2011-04-29T00:12:00.000+10:00

So, the lighting in these pictures is terrible and does not do the jacket justice. This is my first purchase on my travels. I was walking the streets of where I am staying in Spain, and happened to wander unknowingly into a second hand clothing store. This incredible white leather jacket was hanging on the wall with a price tag that said 7 Euro. I presumed it was wrong but the shop assistant caught me staring at it and informed me that this was the correct price. I tried it on, it wasn't the best fit. I put it back.

She then told me I could have it for 6 Euro. For 6 Euro, I couldn't give a damn about it not quite fitting. This jacket is AMAZING. It's real leather. It's vintage. It's a real american label. Couldn't get much cooler than that with a leather jacket.

According to Google 6 Euros = 8.15301249 Australian dollars. Bargain!

Finding my feet in Spain

2011-04-28T04:09:00.001+10:00

I've spent a lazy few days with my Aunt in Spain. I've even extended my stay a few days to ensure we get to watch the royal wedding together, live from her living room (or possibly one of the british owned pubs by the beach).

I was made very welcome on my arrival when we went out for Fish, Chips and Mushy Peas. Made by a british couple in their restaurant by the beach. I can honestly say they were the best fish and chips I'd ever had. Mushy peas are awesome. I'm so looking forward to the England leg of my journey.

So far we have journeyed into the mountains to poke around in a white village called Mijas. The village has a monastry, a bull ring and donkey rides for tourists. It was absolutely gorgeous. I felt all warm inside as we zoomed around the incredibly narrow streets. They are one car wide and sometimes we were almost scraping shop displays.

We have also visited the local zoo, which is small but has some fantastic animals. All of them seemed to be laying in the shade right up against the glass on such a hot day.

I have been spoilt with a train ride up the coast, and ice cream and lemonade sitting in the sun watching everyone around us shop and lunch. Ice cream in Spain is AH-MAZE-ING. They decorate the icecream in the fridge with all sorts of wonderful delights which makes them difficult to resist. I have seen some wonderful creations in shops. These photos are of the shop we ate in. The woman behind the fridge was so excited by my taking pictures of her icecream she invited me behind the counter for an unhindered view. Luckily my Aunt could understand her offer and I quickly accepted with much 'gracias'.

By the looks of the icream and gelati they actually make it themselves in each shop. I would love to see something like this in Australia. I would suggest that it may not have success near home as it is always cold, however there are other highly successful ice cream shops there too.

When you are served an ice cream in a cone you are also given a spoon so you don't have to get it all over your face.

Whatever Huestio is, it was delicious. This was the flavour that I chose to have in a cone. The waffle cones have a noticable cinnamon taste to them, as well as a citrus hint at in the ending stages of their flavour. They are also a lot sturdier than ones used in Australia.

A trait of Spanish houses and buildings is to have tiles as part of the decorations. The ice creamery where we ate had the above sign on the outside wall of the shop where all the customers sat in the sun enjoying treats.

This is my Aunt with my ice cream. You can see the spoon sticking out of it.

We visited the local cemetary and my Aunt showed me how the dead are celebrated in the Spanish way. The above grid, is where the coffins of the deceased are placed. A name plate is placed on the cover of the slot and after a certain number of years (around 5 or 7) the family must pay again to keep their loved one housed here. After this point the remains are removed if the family does not pay and are moved to a communal burial place. Persons are listed as Firstname - Father's family name - Mother's fmaily name. I like the equality of this.

As I was here for Easter and Spain is a very catholic nation, I got to see the amazing statues used for the Easter festival. It was disappointing that they weren't paraded around the streets due to the risk of rain, but I did get to take some pictures of the statues in the church in their full ceremonial attire.

I like this picture. It looks like a cool, hippy Jesus giving everyone below a peace sign.

We also went out to lunch to a resaurant called Wok. They have a buffet set up where you select what you want of uncooked meat and vegeatbles and you take it to the chef. One chef uses a wok to stir fry your choice while the other uses a grill. You need a big appetite to be able to fit everything in. They have entrees, wok food, grill food, sushi, sashimi, dumplins, cakes and fruit.

We went for a short drive to the beach, where I walked along the shoreline taking pictures of the beautiful architecture and surrounds.

Also, a positive spin on my long walk across Paris after the theft of my passport, cash, cards phone and other needed items. Google seemed to know exactly what would cheer me up and walked me along a high class shopping strip. I whipped out my camera and took some snaps. The Australian Embassy is also located right by the foot of the Eiffel Tower.

I've uploaded a heap of picks to my Flickr. You can see them all here.

Hola!

2011-04-24T19:38:00.001+10:00

My adventure (so close to be called a horror story) continued in Paris just after I escaped from my accommodation.

After posting my last installment I was swarmed by a group of gypsy pick pockets in the mcdonalds I was sitting in. In protecting my iPad from a small girl's swipe I lost my bag containing my passport, credit cards, phone, and cash. My initial cry of protest was ignored by everyone in the mcdonalds as I didn't speak French. Eventually another tourist translated my words to the staff who at first were completely unwilling to help. This tourist insisted I be taken to the nearby police station, and soon I was on my way.

The police did nothing and after a short amount of paperwork I was back on the streets of Paris without my most needed posessions. Up until this point I had found it very hard to keep the tears from coming. After every incident that had happened in the days previous all I wanted to do was to go home. The nearest thing I could have to that was the Australian Embassy.

So.

I walked back to the mdonalds where the incident had occurred because that meant free wifi. Then I got the address of the embassy and googled how to walk from where I was to there. My feet were already in bad shape from the previous days of walking with no socks (they were in my luggage) but there was nothing for it. Day pack on and iPad in hand, I set off across Paris and in an hour and a half I found myself at the foot of the embassy.

The staff were brilliant. They organized for me to cancel all my credit cards and to get some emergency cash. Then they sent me to get a photo for an emergency passport. The staff usually provide a passport within 48hours but they worked damn hard to make sure I was on the plane to Spain that night. They also gave me Internet to contact my family and let them know what was going on. Finally I was on my way to the airport. I missed the shuttle and had to take a taxi (150 euro later) to the airport. When I landed in Spain my Aunt collected me from the airport and soon we were at her house drinking a cup of tea.

When I was settled in, we contact Air France again to be told they had delivered my luggage to Nice after I had left. We gave them the address for where I am staying in Spain and they promised to have the luggage to me by 6pm yesterday. 6pm came and we called again to find out they had no record of my previous call and that we were back at square one. This time (after being extremely rude to me) they did not give me a day or time to expect my luggage but said
they would follow it up. I will call them again tonight and see if there is any news.

So far in Spain we have visited Mijas, a white village in the mountains on the coast. Today is meant to be the big Easter festival but due to rain the religious statues won't be parading the streets. This means we will have to visit the church to take some pictures. Tonight we go out for dinner for my Aunt's birthday.

Pictures soon xx

The adventure continues... In Paris (part 1)

2011-04-21T18:28:00.001+10:00

I woke up in the hostel in nice at 5.30am and began preparing to leave as the girls in my room had told me that it became light at 6. Once packed and ready I checked out and began walking to the bus I had discovered would take me back to the airport. It was really cold but I couldn't afford a jumper the day before so I had bought a scarf as a compromise. A scarf would be easier to carry if I removed it.

The walk to the bus was scary as hell. Every in of my black belt trained body was straining to remember every destructive and defensive strike I had been taught, but more than that, my body was listening, looking and preparing to move. I noticed very early that I was being followed down the main promenade. It's wasn't hard to notice as I was the only person around. I immediately moved to the other side of the street. About one block later he crossed to my side of the street. Seeing that it would be safer surroundings if he managed to catch up with me on the other side of the street I crossed again. I remembered expressing my fears of this happening to a woman at my work who said "don't speak, so they don't know your a tourist, walk as confidently as you can." I tried to follow her advice, though my walk may have been more of a tou gansta strut by the time I safely reached the bus. It was on the bus that I realized I had dropped the paper with my flight information as I checked out of the hostel.

I went to the most promising terminal to discover I was at the wrong one with 10 minutes left to checkin, the next bus to the right terminal took six minutes to get there and I ran as fast as I could to the terminal, fighting myself for control of my own year ducts. Thank Darwin almost everyone in an airport speaks English. The attendant for easy jet took pity on me and guided to me to check in with time to spare.

I will note that I still had no luggage. It had not arrived overnight and I was carrying all my stuff in my backpack. The flight was smooth to Paris. I read the lonely planet all the way there. It seemed there was no transport from Orly airport to Paris apart form busses with connections. The lonely planet, was on this point, very wrong. Orly has a train that connects to the blue line and on the one ticket you can travel directly into Gare Du Nord (the iPad keeps trying to correct this to Garett Du Nordic). I walked to Place De Clichy. Such a short sentence for a very long lost time in the back streets of Montmartre. Here I can give you a very handy tip. There are gorgeous little fruit shops everywhere I Paris with polished, shiny and occasionally painted-to-look-more-gorgeous fruit. I bought myself two bottles of water, a big pun net (you know what I mean, IPad auto correct doesn't) of strawberries and 2 mandarines. All for 5 euro.

I finally found my accommodation but the attendant did not speak English. We managed to communicate enough that, no, my luggage was not there and that for 7euro I could get breakfast.

I then went to my room and cried and cried until I thought I was going to be sick. Then I stripped down to my bare skin and washed my top and undies in the basin of my ensuit with theirncomplimentary soap. Then I went to bed and read Jane Austen until I fell asleep.

The adventure still continues.... In paris part 2

2011-04-21T18:27:00.001+10:00

I woke up in the morning in my 2 star room and dried my clothes with the provided hair dryer until it died. Then I went to check if my luggage had arrived while I slept. Alas. It had not but the man at reception who spoke broken English did help me to charge my French sim card with the credit I had bought for it. The man inquired if it was just my luggage I said yes, he asked if I was staying by myself or if the other travelers had baggage trouble too.

It is here that the lonely planet guide I purchased became worth every cent.

I hesitated before saying yes. It is a lot harder to catch sleazy and unnecessary inquiries when both parties can barely understand each other. The attendant then felt it was very necessary to give me a consoling hug which I did not return. He then asked if I wanted to use the Internet to check of my luggage. 'the internet' was conveniently located on a computer in a back cupboard just cost enough for two people. I asked for my breakfast but 'joseph' told me that it was finished, in spite of me being told breakfast was until 10. So I was trapped in very intimate room with a sleazy man, with no one within shouting distance.

Fortunately, he thought a coffee would soften me up. I gratefully accepted one and as he left the room I dashed out of the cupboard back to my room. It wasn't long but it was long enough. He called out to make me come back for coffee which he gave to me and slung his arms around me. I told him thank you for helping me put credit on my phone as my boyfriend had just message me to say that he had arrived at the station. He asked me which station. I lied further and said Port Maillot, which I was meant to meet him and I had to leave. He asked me how I was getting there and told me he got off in 20 minutes.

He stepped out of the room and I tipped the coffee down a nearby sink and ran back to my room and locked the door. Then, as fast as I could with shaking hands, I packed my bag and then stood at my door, waiting for the perfect moment. When I heard him walk into the hotel lounge I opened the door and ran for the exit, dumping the room key on the counter as I went. I then ran, bags swinging, blisters stinging, as fast as I could onto the main thoroughfare of Place de Clichy. It wasn't until I knew I was surrounded by people that I looked back.

I was so lucky that they didn't hold my passport at reception. I was also so lucky that I had read the section in the lonely planet that covers this exact issue to recognize how to escape. I am also lucky I was staying only one night.

I would go further than the lonely planet to say that you should never say you are travelling alone to anyone and to pretend that you will be meeting your husband very shortly somewhere if anyone thinks you are. I may just buy myself a cheap ring to wear on my wedding finger to help pretend I am spoken for.

Once at Place de Clichy I looked around for the best thing to do and spotted the best thing ever. McDonalds. In Paris, the golden arches signals cheap food and FREE WIFI. They weren't open yet so I wandered around taking pictures if the architecture and calming myself down before I finally went in and ordered by pointing at the pictures on the menu.

I'm now sitting in this mcdoanalds drinking a hot chocolate so thick and strong that it's almost solid. Also, bacon in France is way saltier than oz.

Than you to everyone for writing hilarious comments on my Facebook page. I really need to keep laughing right now and it has made me feel a lot better.

So after once again having no luggage at my accommodation (I hope Joseph was not lying) I am stinky, not wearing any make up, but I am free of his wandering hands.

I would like to point out that for the first time, I didn't cry. I think crying all last night got rid of all the unhappy chemicals in my body. Today I laughed.

In a minute, I'm going to go back out into the Paris bustle and head towards the station I need to get to. I'll update as soon as I have Internet again.

Toddles.

Bonjour!

2011-04-19T23:17:00.001+10:00

I'm sitting in a hostel in Nice, stinking like a dead pig. I have flat hair and puddings for feet. I'm exhausted, but not tired. I keep feeling dizzy. I can't tell if I'm hungry or not and I was so relieved to meet someone that spoke English that the hotel attendant knows my life story. So here is my adventure so far.

Flew out of Melbourne with Qantas towards Singapore. Sat next to a lovely couple on the plane who adopted me and gave hell to a shifty flight attendant that asked me to marry him. Qantas have fantastic entertainment! I watched Burlesque, The King's Speech and Conviction as well as a little bio on Dita Von Teese. Their plane food was pretty yummo. I only drank water and juice for the whole 8 hours.

Waited around at Singapore for next flight. Sat next to another couple who were pretty nice on the next plane. Didn't each much of the dinner, watched the movie Red and tried desperately to sleep. Landed at 6am in Paris and discovered that Air France had somehow gotten confused about their own airport transfer procedure and lost my luggage. The correct procedure (which I investigated) involves me collecting my luggage in Paris CDG then transferring via shuttle bus to Paris OLY. I should then have checked in my baggage in for my connecting flight to Nice.

When they could delay me no longer, the baggage claim staff at Air France took all the details from me they could and sent me across to OLY baggage free. The bus driver on the shuttle couldn't understand me so he just kept saying Yes to all the questions I asked about which OLY airport stop I was meant to get off at. In the end, I improvised and took the first one. Luckily I was right and had checked in right away.

Took off from from OLY and landed in Nice. Figured out how to get to the bus I needed, but the bus driver thought I spoke Spanish and sent me onto another bus because he couldn't understand me. It's about now I am kicking myself that I had planned to get my French phrasebook out of my luggage when I landed in Paris. The next bus driver had no idea what I wanted but after much gesturing and nodding of heads I was away (for free I might add). Then the bus drivers changed over and I was suddenly on a bus without a ticket, going in the wrong direction. When we reached the end of the line and the new bus driver discovered I could not speak English, we spent a good 10minutes figuring out where I needed to be. Turned out I didn't miss my stop, I was on the right bus and I just needed to wait for the route to start over again.

A few hours later I arrived to the hostel, where I am now. Exhausted. Ready to cry. Wanting to have a shower.

All I have is my hand luggage, an emergency pack from Air France (toothbrush, toothpaste, ugly tshirt) and a promise they will reimburse me for whatever I need to purchase to get by without my luggage up to a worth of 100 euro. I half want to cry. I half want to go exploring. I really need a wash and a change of clothes. I smell REALLY bad.

So.

What I'm gunna do is take a deep breath. I'm gunna tell myself I can cry when I'm going to sleep tonight. I'm gunna walk back to the main shopping strip and buy some clothes and a sim card. Then I'm gunna have a shower and join the other hostel occupants for dinner.

Bleh.

A birthday and a goodbye

2011-04-10T12:15:00.001+10:00

For some time now I've been planning a trip to Europe. I've never been overseas before (unless you count Tasmania). This will be my first time in another country as well.

Note: This statement may have confused my Australia readers, as we have to go overseas to go to another country. When we say 'overseas' we mean 'anywhere outside Australia'.

This week I had my Birthday, and in just over 1 week I will be boarding a plane to the great beyond. To celebrate my day of birth and to say goodbye to my close family and friends I booked out the party room at The Vintage China Company.

The food was presented beautifully on 3 tiered cake plate stands.

With love heart shaped sugar, even those of us that don't usually take sugar were tempted to sweeten our tea.

This is my first ever macaroon! I became extra excited about this as I cook them all the time on (I'm such a dork!) Bakery Story (this is a game on my phone). I've always wanted to make them but never really took the time to try my hand at it. Because of this, I had never tasted one. I will say, this one tasted like Froot Loops.

How cute are these cakes? The blue heart in the middle says 'Happy Birthday'.

This my Aunt (if your new to my blog, I blog about her a lot). She attended the party in a vintage dress she bought in England. She had to adjust it when she got it home to Australia, as in its lifetime it has been tailored a few times. Letting the seams out to their original cut made the dress fit her perfectly.

The recent change in time due to daylight savings combined with the group of us chatting until the close of the cafe, meant I had the opportunity to snap the pictures on the way out of the shop while the sky darkened outside. Here are three photos of the cafe at twilight.

This photo above is a display of roses, with Easter eggs worked into the display. The Easter decor at the shop is gorgeous! I've never decorated for Easter before, but their range makes me want to. Here are some more photos at twilight.

See the full set of pictures from The Vintage China Company on my Flickr. :)

NOTE: For some reason the formatting on this post has been pushed out of wack by the pictures. I've tried correcting it, but no matter what I do in the edit stage, it keeps coming out strange. If you can, please ignore the strange spacing. xx

A Tea Recipe

2011-03-31T10:42:00.001+11:00

My mum recently visited Vietnam where she discovered this ginger and lemongrass tea. Since returning home, we've made our own version of it and are drinking it regularly. I may miss this the most in my upcoming trip to Europe. I took some in to work and it was a hit! So was my paisley teapot by Ashdene.

It's a nice comfort for sniffly noses and sore throats as well as soothing on a tummy ache. This is also my favourite brew when stressed (but this could just be because I love this tea as much as chocolate, but the tea is less naughty).

Here is a guide to how I make it.

Ingredients:

Lemon - 3 slices
Lime - 3 slices
Fresh Ginger - 4 slices
Lemongrass - 2cm sliced
Honey

Coconut (optional)

NOTE: My mum and I have tried a few different honeys. Beechworth seems to be the best. The whole flavour of the tea can change if you just change the honey. I'm not a fan of leatherwood honey as it's too bitter, but finding your favourite flavour of honey will give the tea a personalised taste.

www.beechworthhoney.com.au

Step 1

Cut up the fresh ingredients. The amount depends on the size of the fruit/root so use the amounts above as a guide. Cut the ginger slices into halves if you want to help bring out the flavour. Put all the cut ingredients into the teapot. Smelling the ingredients at this point should give you a guide to how it will taste (70% of taste is smell).

Step 2

Pour the honey over the ingredients. I like to cover all the ingredients in the bottom of pot completely with honey. This allows you to keep the amount of honey proportionate to how much of the other ingredients you put in. Not enough honey will let the tart flavours of the citrus stand out.

Step 3

Fill the pot with boiling water and stir for a few seconds to assist with dissolving the honey and the infusion of the brew. Leave brew for five minutes then pour.

If you have added coconut, you will need to use a tea strainer when pouring.

NOTE: Drinking the last dregs of the pot can be a bit bitter, due to all the lemon and lime skin in the water. Top it up again with water and add more honey for a better taste. Don't forget to let it brew again, otherwise you will just be diluting the flavour.

Enjoy!

Channelling Miss Marple

2011-03-21T13:25:00.000+11:00

I love 50's inspired fashion and lately I've been watching Miss Marple almost entirely for the fashion eye candy. Any series will do, but the latest one recently available on ABC iView has been my favourite. Here are some pictures for you to croon over, although the best images of the outfits are found by watching the episodes themselves.

I love the series with Sheena Napier as costume designer. The three images above are from that series.

LMFF - Fashion Full Stop

2011-03-17T13:11:00.000+11:00

My sister took me to the launch of the LMFF (L'Oréal Melbourne Fashion Festival 2011) on Monday as an early Birthday present. I wasn't going to go as I'm saving like mad for Europe and couldn't budget it. Thanks to my sis I found myself in the second row and able to take snaps of some of the fashions as they made their way past me.

The show had a little too much jazz dancing for my liking. It was also a little awkward when models were trying to find their way around the dancers or the celebrity singers on stage. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but next time I would like to see less g-string clad dancers waggling their downstairs lady-bits at the audience. It made it so there was a little too much happening on stage and at times it was distracting when trying to watch the fashions.

While I did my best with the photos as I could, I apologise in advance for the ones I didn't quite get right. I have included some that I wouldn't normally as I love the clothes they captured. Be warned, this is a ridiculously long post and I haven't even included all the pictures.

To see all the pictures on flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lianasmooz/sets/72157626157948461/

To see what I upload in real time: http://picplz.com/user/lianasmooz/

More on LMFF: http://www.lmff.com.au/

If you like the shoes in the above and below images, check out my previous blog post about my shoe addiction here.

I will admit to completely adoring this suit. I'm not a fan of dark and boring suits and this was so me. Definitely not my best photography but these are the only pictures I have of it.

I'm very sorry to say that I didn't charge my camera battery and before the best part of the David Jones section of the parade the poor thing died (in the midst of Alex Perry and before Alannah Hill). I did manage to take a couple of snaps on my phone however.

Hello good sir!

2011-03-07T22:43:00.001+11:00

I have started to notice quite a serious pattern in gentlemen I end up sighing at on screen. They end up checking a few of these boxes.

1. They are at least twice my age

2. They are wearing some sort of spiffing costume.

3. They have brown eyes and/or dark hair

4. They have a great voice which they use to say things like "Indeed!' and "Maybe your ears don't work so well, cabin boy" and "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you'".

Colin Firth

Sir Robert Lindsay

Guy Williams

Antonio Banderas

Michael Wincott

Jason Isaacs

Gary Oldman

I'm sure there are more chaps, but off the top of my head, that will have to do you for now.

The Femme Behind The Photo

2011-03-02T11:08:00.000+11:00

If you're a regular on my blog you will have seen me making a few posts with photos of the ever glamorous Claire. So who is she, other than one hot looking lady?

Whoever coined the idea that beauty and brains don't go together didn't know this woman. Claire is a student currently finishing off a Bachelor of Psychological Science. Her friends used to joke about her being 'Hermione Granger' and the nickname stuck.

Her incredible self discipline means you will often find her with her nose in a book or rushing off to the library. However, when she's not filling her lovely head with advanced statistics and psychological theories she is displaying her skills elsewhere too.

Claire has over 10 years of martial arts training ingrained into her very flexible little body. She smirks at this, as it is the cause of another nickname: 'Gumby'. She's no contortionist, but her leg strength means that she keeps a few of her senior sparring partners on their toes. Even tough, tall, men cringe as soon as their head is in reach of her legs. When I originally photographed her leaping around in the cold spring air in my bridesmaid dress, plenty of the comments I received presumed that Claire was a trained dancer. While she can dance, she gives full credit of her flexibility to her Karate skills. And she hasn't always been this flexible.

'I had to work damn hard to be able to get my flexibility to what it is now. In fact, it's often been a means of criticism from other people,' she says. 'People always presumed that I was naturally flexible, and that I was showing off for kicking high when I didn't have to. I was constantly faced with an attitude that my achievements didn't count because I didn't have to work as hard as other, less flexible people to get there.' She snorts and rolls her eyes. 'I kicked high when I didn't have to because I wanted to be able to kick higher, not to measure myself against the people around me. Petty people will criticise you for trying. If you have achieved something they can't or haven't had the drive or passion to achieve they will try to lessen your success by pretending you were less challenged than they are.' She shrugs her shoulders and shows her thick emotional skin. 'I didn't get to where I am to get compliments and reassurance from people for achieving it. If I needed those things I wouldn't be kicking as high as I do.'

Her cleverness and resilience are also backed up by a sprinkling of talent, though she blushes when you mention it. She plays clarinet and has recently taken up the saxophone and piano. She also kicks most people's arses at Singstar (occasionally mine). The girl can also dance and has a defined indie-girl dress sense.

Her dress sense usually results in me getting out my camera at every opportunity around her (helps that she is pretty photogenic too). Doing some shoots I've had to wrestle her out of her black stockings into something more subtle like pale pink or cream or white. A classic example of this is the shoot we did in the Vintage China Company.

Usually she will show up at my door in black tights, a floral dress and maybe chunky boots, her big eyes twinkling. That being said, her style can vary incorporating elements of vintage or retro or even latest trends. I usually screw up my nose in a cheeky disapproval of her matching a vintage 50's dress with shoes or stockings that are distinctly not vintage. To which I normally receive a smirk and an arched eyebrow. She always keeps it feminine and stockings would have to be a big part of her wardrobe arsenal.

We have a laugh together about this. It's not just about being ladylike. For those of us that may suffer during summer of the unpleasantness of heat and walking around, comfort is a necessity.

She's got an adventurous streak too which regularly results in her getting in a car and driving somewhere. I have to ask her about this. Does she feel like she's searching for something or is it a need to feel as though she is on her way to somewhere? Or haven't I put my finger on it? Is it something else?

She ponders for a moment. 'Sometimes it's to feel like I'm heading somewhere, sometimes it's just to get away from where I am. It's nice to feel like I'm on the way to somewhere.' She recalls an evening recently where she traveled to Portarlignton at 1am. 'It depends what space your head is in. Sometimes it's just to iron out what things I've been over-thinking during the day.'

Her adventures don't end there. She recently got her first tattoo, which was half impulse, half planned. She knew what she wanted and had the idea in her head for a while, then one day, she walked into a tattooist, unplanned, and had it inked. This didn't got down to well with everyone.

She laughs at this and says something that I have to agree with: 'If someone tells you that you look ugly or fat in your new dress, or that a heartfelt decision of yours is stupid then, whatever,' she waves a hand through the air. 'If you're painting a yellow painting and someone doesn't like it, don't let them put blue in it! If yellow is for you, be yellow! If they put blue in it, it's not your painting anymore, is it?'

So for a talented, gorgeous, intelligent girl, how far does she feel she has come in her young life?

'Not very.' She chuckles. 'I guess I feel stuck a lot of the time. In fact, I was thinking about this the other day. I'm 20, and I've been through a lot that I feel was forced on me, but at the same time I feel like I should have done all those things anyway. The fact that I will be graduating before I'm 21 feels like a great achievement. I don't feel like I'll have accomplished something until I have done some traveling. I guess I'm hoping to discover myself.'

I'm surprised by this. For a girl that seems so in touch with the core of who she is, she still yearns to discover herself. 'I think you need to know your roots. Sometimes it's not possible for people to find that out, but I have that opportunity and I want to know more. I feel like there is a big part of me missing, not knowing the story of where I came from. I know parts of it but I guess I'm looking for closure. Now that, as an adult I can have an adults perspective on the things that really impacted my world growing up, now I'm more ready to know.'
Yet, she's still challenged by thinking of herself as an adult. 'It's hard. I never really had a childhood growing up.' She wonders about what we classify as being an adult. Being able to drink? Your age? Her feelings that she missed out on her childhood means it feels strange to call herself an adult. 'I felt like such a little kid at the start of Uni, but I feel more grown up lately than I have, ever.'

So would she call herself a woman? 'I never get referred to as a lady, people even now think I'm 16. It doesn't matter how dressed up I get, people still presume I'm a kid.' She shrugs. 'I'm also more comfortable being called 'man' or 'dude' than 'lady' or 'woman'.'

So what does she think femme means to her? 'When you started this blog,' she says to me 'I really appreciated that it was called Finding Femme. It was about discovering your femme not about how to be feminine. It was about the journey. Like how I want to travel and find out about my family. It's about the search. That's how I feel all the time. I'm still trying to find where I think my place is.'

'It's kind of like, when I wear my floral dress and trucker boots, I don't know if it's indie but it's something different. I guess I get really sick of being told what femme is and how I should define myself as a woman by society and my community and the media I'm always exposed to. I'm not going to cross my legs when I sit down just because someone else thinks that's what I need to do to be a woman. If I discover that later on, fine, but unless I find that for myself it's not my femme. It's someone elses.' She laughs, recalling being told to 'get her fanny out of the air' by some seniors in her life. 'If you don't like it, don't look.' She grins.

So what makes her happy? Cups of tea. Dancing. But at the end of the day, she's happy in herself, without which she couldn't laugh as easily as she does.

Love her as much as I do? Check out more pictures of her here on flickr.

Mad as a hatter

2011-02-25T20:46:00.003+11:00

I love hats. I'm starting to build up a nice collection of them. My love of them has increased since I was a compere for a vintage hat fashion parade (blog post about this adventure here). When my mum recently returned from an adventure in Vietnam she brought back this plain straw hat to which I have added a grey velvet ribbon and the peach rose which I used in photos with Claire.

This spiffy looking suit is one from Chitra's Closet. I'm using the hat pre-makeover to hide my face.

In fact, here is the skirt an shoes in more detail. I freaking love this suit. Today I walked down to the cafe where all the students sit and I thought I had my skirt tucked into my stockings or something. Everyone was staring at me then smiling and whispering behind their hands. It took me a little to realise I was only gaining attention due to this suit (minus the hat).

Here is the hat with just the velvet ribbon, and then some shots with it out an about.

Hats hats hats. Love em.

Lunch Box (and a hat)

2011-02-17T13:13:00.000+11:00

Once when I was at work, I had my lunch thrown out when someone did a purge of the refrigerator. My plastic bag clad sandwich was tossed away as 'it looked like rubbish'. Since then, I have purchased and now utilise a lunchbox.

If I'm going to buy something, I want it to be spiffy, so I ended up settling for a Penny Scallan lunchbox. You can check out their website here: www.pennyscallan.com.au

This is also a picture of my fantastic hat. Today I have been a blithering, blundering, idiot at work but I keep looking at my hat and thinking, 'I'm alright!'

Burlesque

2011-02-13T19:59:00.000+11:00

This post has been saved up to just for the Birthday of Gypsy. Happy Birthday Gypsy. Thanks for following.

It's 8.45pm. I'm on a tram heading to Fitzroy North and I'm fretting about missing my stop. Ever since I've needed glasses I get mildly more worried when catching public transport on lines I'm not familiar with. I'm counting the stops in my head and kicking off my spare flats. I wonder if anyone thinks I'm weird as I pull some heels (these heels in fact) out of my bag and slip my feet into them. More likely another girl on the tram is looking at me thinking, 'She's clever, bringing flats as well.'

Another girl, as it turns out, is Lepersava. We are blissfully unaware that we are on the same tram and don't realise until we get off at stop 15, just off Johnston St. She calls out to me and we laugh. She was admiring my shoes as I got off the tram and then realised it was me. Had we planned better, we may have figured out we would be catching the same tram.

She has come prepared too (although not with flats). She's got her camera and flash in her bag ready for tonight's show at Burlesque Bar. A friend who will be performing has invited us to the show. I'm really excited and unsure what to expect. Burlesqe has become a mainstream trend with the recent release of the film Burlesque with Cher and Christina Aguilera. I haven't seen it yet (the story line looked like it was covered completely in the 1 minute preview) and probably won't until it comes to DVD. I'm more into the real thing. So here I am, heading into the bar to see it.

The venue is very red and sexually charged. The walls are decorated with burlesque posters and ornate mirrors. A small black and white checkered stage juts out into the room. It's smaller than I expected, but then I expected a massive stage with a curtain, green room, glorious lights and round tables with diners smoking cigars. It's exactly as the title says; it's a bar. The long room is tight with people. Women out for a birthday, couples meeting up for a night out. We make our way to the bar and get some drinks and fries to await the start of the show. Time passes quickly as we are distracted by the projector screen showing the performances of famous burlesque ladies such as Dita Von Teese.

It's not long before we're all taunted by the sexily Spanish Conseula. She struts out into the bar, singing. It takes the crowd a little to notice that they're no longer listening to a recording. As she makes her way to the stage, curls and bust bouncing, heads turn. By the time she gets to the stage all eyes are on her.

We chuckle away as she finishes and begins harassing the crowd into a state of laughter and grinning. Once she has them primed, out comes the first dancer of the night: Lady Chocolate.

She delights everyone with a more traditional performance. After a taste of burlesque the crowd settles in to a state of whistling, laughing and applauding.

The performers are introduced by Conseula each time and each performance is refreshingly different. One wows the crowd with her flexibility, one teases the crowd with her fiery, themed strips and finally Lady Chocolate returns wearing (and slowly not wearing) purple to the sound of 'Start Wearing Purple' by Gogle Bordello. The song, the outfit, the routine all skillfully fire the crowd into cheers and applause.

As the lights come back up people leave in groups. It doesn't take long before the venue is almost empty. We hang around with the bar staff talking about burlesque and drinking bourbon. By midnight, Lep and I walk back out of the bar to the tram stop to make our way home.

After seeing my first show, I swear every light and star on the way home looks like sequins and dimanties.

If you've loved the pictures of the night taken by Lepersava, view the full set on flickr here or check out her blog: http://www.lightscamerascream.net

Coco and Benny

2011-02-04T13:28:00.000+11:00

There is a store on eBay that I love. I'm in love with this new dress they've put up for sale...

You can see it here.

A girl in South Africa...

2011-01-26T12:22:00.000+11:00

A South African girl born today is more likely to be raped than she is to learn to read.

If you're not shocked by that statement, consider it for a moment. No human being deserves that.

I received an email today from an activist organisation that have achieved some amazing things using petitions to put pressure on Governments to be conscious, to act, to do the right thing and to change. Today I received this email. I've put my name down, and I'd love to know that you've joined me.

Millicent Gaika was bound, strangled, tortured and raped for five hours by a man who crowed that he was ‘curing’ her of her lesbianism.

She barely survived, but she is not alone -- this vicious crime is recurrent in South Africa, where lesbians live in terror of attack. But no one has ever been convicted of 'corrective rape'.

Amazingly, from a tiny Cape Town safehouse a few brave activists are risking their lives to ensure that Millicent’s case sparks change. Their appeal to the Minister of Justice has exploded to over 140,000 signatures, forcing him to respond on national television. But the Minister has not yet answered their demands for action.

Let's shine a light on this horror from all corners of the world -- if enough of us join in to amplify and escalate this campaign, we can reach President Zuma, who is ultimately responsible to uphold constitutional rights. Let’s call on Zuma and the Minister of Justice to publicly condemn ‘corrective rape’, criminalise hate crimes, and ensure immediate enforcement, public education and protection for survivors. Sign the petition now and share it with everyone -- we’ll deliver it to the South African government with our partners in Cape Town:

https://secure.avaaz.org/en/stop_corrective_rape/?vl

South Africa, often called the Rainbow Nation, is revered globally for its post-apartheid efforts to protect against discrimination. It was the first country to constitutionally protect citizens from discrimination based on sexuality. But in Cape Town alone, the local organization Luleki Sizwe has recorded more than one 'corrective rape' per day, and impunity reigns.

'Corrective rape' is based on the outrageous and utterly false notion that a lesbian woman can be raped to 'make her straight', but this heinous act is not even classified as a hate crime in South Africa. The victims are often black, poor, lesbian women, and profoundly marginalised. But even the 2008 gang rape and murder of Eudy Simelane, the national hero and former star of the South Africa women's national football team, did not turn the tide. And just last week Minister Radebe insisted that motive is irrelevant in crimes like 'corrective rape.'

South Africa is the rape capital of the world. A South African girl born today is more likely to be raped than she is to learn to read. Astoundingly, one quarter of South African girls are raped before turning 16. This has many roots: masculine entitlement (62 per cent of boys over 11 believe that forcing someone to have sex is not an act of violence), poverty, crammed settlements, unemployed and disenfranchised men, community acceptance -- and, for the few cases that are courageously reported to authorities, a dismal police response and lax sentencing.

This is a human catastrophe. But Luleki Sizwe and partners at Change.org have opened a small window of hope in the fight against it. If the whole world weighs in now, we could get justice for Millicent and national action to end 'corrective rape':

https://secure.avaaz.org/en/stop_corrective_rape/?vl

This is ultimately a battle with poverty, patriarchy, and homophobia. Ending the tide of rape will require bold leadership and concerted action to spearhead transformative change in South Africa and across the continent. President Zuma is a a Zulu traditionalist, who has himself stood trial for rape. But he condemned the arrest of a gay couple in Malawi last year, and, after massive national and international civic pressure, South Africa finally approved a UN resolution opposing extra-judicial killing in relation to sexual orientation.

If enough of us join this global call for action, we could push Zuma to speak out, drive much-needed government action, and begin a national conversation that could fundamentally shift public attitudes toward rape and homophobia in South Africa. Sign on now and spread the word:

https://secure.avaaz.org/en/stop_corrective_rape/?vl

A case like Millicent’s makes it easy to lose hope. But when citizens come together with one voice, we can succeed in shifting fundamentally unjust, but deeply ingrained practices and norms. Last year, in Uganda, we succeeded in building such a massive wave of public pressure that the government was forced to shelve legislation that would have sentenced gay Ugandans to death. And it was global pressure in support of bold national activists that pushed South African leaders to address the AIDS crisis that was engulfing their country. Let’s join together now and speak out for a world where each and every human being can live without fear of abuse.

With hope and determination,

Alice, Ricken, Maria Paz, David and the rest of the Avaaz team

SOURCES:

Blog of Luleki Sizwe, South African organization leading the call to their government to stop 'corrective rape', and provides support to victims
http://lulekisizwe.wordpress.com

Minister of Justice Radebe’s nationally televised interview (South African Broadcasting Corporation)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkx-PYqHM0U

Protest against ‘corrective rape’ (The Sowetan)
http://www.sowetanlive.co.za/news/2011/01/06/protest-against-corrective-rape

Petition launched on Change.org by activists from Luleki Sizwe
http://humanrights.change.org/petitions/view/south_africa_declare_corrective_rape_a_hate-crime

"South Africa's shame: the rise of child rape" (The Independent)
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/africa/south-africas-shame-the-rise-of-child-rape-1974578.html

"Exploring homophobic victimisation in Gauteng, South Africa: issues, impacts, and responses" (Centre for Applied Psychology, University of South Africa)
http://www.avaaz.org/out_ucap_gauteng_study

"We have a major problem in South Africa" (The Guardian)
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/nov/18/south-africa-murder-rape

"South Africa: Rape Facts" (Channel 4)
http://www.channel4.com/programmes/dispatches/articles/south-africa-rape-facts

"Understanding men’s health and use of violence: interface of rape and HIV in South Africa" (Medical Research Council)
http://gender.care2share.wikispaces.net/file/view/MRC+SA+men+and+rape+ex+summary+june2009.pdf

"Preventing Rape and Violence in South Africa" (Medical Research Council)
http://www.mrc.ac.za/gender/prev_rapedd041209.pdf

Good Morning

2011-01-25T11:26:00.000+11:00

Took this snap on my phone this morning when I woke up. My room in the morning light.

Free art

2011-01-22T14:38:00.000+11:00

I'm home from work and my brother is in the kitchen lining up bags full of lumpy white stuff on the kitchen bench.

'What is this cocain looking stuff?' I ask as I wander into the kitchen to get a closer look.

'Caps.' he says.

I take a snap on my phone and I tweet it. Most people have only ever seen caps attached to the aeroguard or their hairspray. Some people have actually seen them attached to a spray can. It's not your common person that has seen this many bags of them close up. Welcome to the world of having a professional graffiti artist for a brother. Caps, you see, in the pro world of paint are bought separate from the cans. The coloured dots on the nozzles indicate the different size and shape of the projected paint. I scan his caps and see the different dots.

'Which ones spray big spots?' I ask. He taps a bag. I nag him again when I see the strange red ones he's got because I've never seen them before. He calls them needle caps. He needs all this stuff for his upcoming commissioned work. Most of the stuff he does is for private businesses, so we rarely get to see it when it's finished. Today, though he has taken me down to look at some finished work.

For a couple of days he was working on a commissioned wall with some other artists in town. The wall is part of a private carpark.This piece wasn't done by him but it caught my eye straight away.

If you're from Ballarat you'll notice familiar silhouettes in this skyline. The town hall, the old silos. The Sovereign Hill mining tower. What could be the top of the Arch of Victory.

This is his finished work. Cax is his 'handle'. He's done it in this cool reptilian speckled skin.

This is the detail of a snotty nosed plumber in one of the other pieces on the wall. This one isn't my brothers.

Above and below are more shots of the work done by the other artists. Some of the traveled from Geelong to work on the wall.

This was the piece my brother was most excited to show me. A mad scientist holding up some freak creation.

He does live paints at galleries and festivals too. If you've never seen a live graffiti paint I recommend you check one out. My brother's most recent live paint was done at Falls Festival over NYE. Information on live paints happening locally (Victoria, Aus) can be found on the KUBU ART STUDIO facebook open group. Click here to find them.

My shoe problem continues...

2011-01-19T22:13:00.000+11:00

The fastest way to get me bright and sparky after work is to put a parcel notice in my letterbox. You see, it takes me 7 minutes to get from my house to the post office. The post office closes 9 minutes after I get home. I never complain about getting back in the car. I zoom down to the post office and collect whatever it is that I have probably been drooling over on the internet for months. In this case: 5 pairs of shoes.

These shoes I bought online in an I <3 Billy sale. For the record, I bought them last year before my newly imposed "I-need-money-for-my-trip-to-Europe" credit card diet. The sale was on one of those invite only exclusive sale websites. Click here if you want to be invited by me. Great eye candy! I use it to window shop in my lunch break sometimes.

These are my purchases from the latest I <3 Billy sale.

Flat ugly indie shoes with built in doilies (sock marks complimentary of a long day at work). These are leather lined and are actually really comfortable. I shall see how they wear in. If they are still comfy after a few outings, I may have to take them to Europe with me.

Yes I know what you're thinking. Either she's photoshopped those shoes to be 3 different colours or she's one of those girls that would buy three pairs of the one style in different colours.

Yes. I'm one of those girls (for the first time in my life). They were cheap. I couldn't decide. I wanted them all. It's my money.

There is nothing for it. These shoes are ugly. They are deliciously, ugly. I loved them from the moment I saw them. I loved them for their hideous, old cat lady, floral and for their unflattering, boring design. I loved them all the more for the fact that they appear (without flowers) in one of my favourite films: Howl's Moving Castle.

The girl in the dress here is Sophie. See her ugly ankle high boots?

Here you can see the detail of the toe. Notice the section of material encompassing the toe, just like my ugly pair.

Here they are again. In this image they do look a little higher than ankle, but in my opinion, anything between ankle and midcalf is interchangeable and unflattering. I know Sophie is meant to be a dag in this film, but I love her style.

That's enough random pictures from the internet for me.

Now. What to wear with my shoes...

Shoe wish list

2011-01-18T16:15:00.000+11:00

I know you'll want to see the shoes that I'm looking at on Modcloth too. Have a looksee here.

Unde-feet-ed Boot

$158.99

The Brunswick Heel

$128.99

Flawless Taste Heel

$64.99

Internship Interview Wedge

$141.99

The To-Toes Heel

$117.99

Perfect Photo Op Flat

$102.99

Artesian Aquifer Wedge

$129.99

Words Can't Express Heel in Red

$137.99

Cuckoo Bootie

$119.99

I also love all the shoes by Irregular Choice on Modcloth.

PS. I think I'm going to get a tshirt (as much as I hate slogan tshirts) that says "If you don't like how many shoes I have, you're the one with a shoe problem!"