Mission: Finding happiness in the unknown.
I'm preparing to release my sails and let the wind guide me for the next few months and I couldn't be more excited. My last European foray!
Turning corners with hidden endings, finding revelations in unseen cultures.
There is an art to travelling. For me, its letting go.
Shantaram (though set in Asia) constantly spoke of the need to release the fight, and flow. If you fight it, you'll drown. I think this is perfect, the art is in the flow.
It is one of the most wonderful things to let yourself go and see where it takes you. I think it is the moments that aren't planned that turn out to be most spectacular. Where the wind catches you up and pulls you effortlessly and beautifully. An enchanting escape.
I haven't travelled alone in a bit and I'm ready to find fun in new faces, new smiles and unheard laughs. I'll miss those faces I love but people can be wonderful if you give them a chance. I hope I find some.
Morocco. Italy. Budapest. Poland. Czech Republic. Vienna. England. Singapore. Australia. H.O.M.E.
A week in humidity catching up with an old face and exploring a whole country I'm completely new to.
Then 6 hours with my favourite sibling in a city I'll soon call my own.
Then, home. Home. I cannot wait.
First Christmas at home, in summer, in two years.
That is where moments are made.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Sunday, September 16, 2012
The Land of the Long White Cloud.
I am back.
In the beauty of my home, my city. The same, albeit slightly destroyed.
It is wonderful to be home. I have been luxuriating in the wide open spaces, the constant smiles of the friendliest people in the world, the easy, laid back, happy-go-lucky nature of the lifestyle and being around (almost) all of my favourite people in the world.
It is fantastic to see my family again, my brother even trekked over from Sydney to make my first few days back in the country that much more special.
I have been here almost 3 weeks now, absolutely indulging myself.
No work, no study, no job.
It really is glorious.
But things can't stay like this forever, and I guess, if I do think about it, I wouldn't want them to. I need something to do, an inspiration, a challenge and my visa and flight back to the other side of the world beckons.
LONDON.
This time, still Europe, but English. I love Europe. I do. But for now, rain, wind, chill followed by sunny skies and that sharp blue of the sky I've only found in NZ. Beach minutes afar, down streets I know in a car, all mine. Soft, clean carpet. A cupboard with the most amazing food, opportunity to bake, cook, clean, read, write, run, tennis, netball, surf and generally do anything I want to.
I will live here. Not now, but I'll be back.
If there's one thing I know, I will never ever leave NZ forever.
I will always, ALWAYS be back.
In the beauty of my home, my city. The same, albeit slightly destroyed.
It is wonderful to be home. I have been luxuriating in the wide open spaces, the constant smiles of the friendliest people in the world, the easy, laid back, happy-go-lucky nature of the lifestyle and being around (almost) all of my favourite people in the world.
It is fantastic to see my family again, my brother even trekked over from Sydney to make my first few days back in the country that much more special.
I have been here almost 3 weeks now, absolutely indulging myself.
No work, no study, no job.
It really is glorious.
But things can't stay like this forever, and I guess, if I do think about it, I wouldn't want them to. I need something to do, an inspiration, a challenge and my visa and flight back to the other side of the world beckons.
LONDON.
This time, still Europe, but English. I love Europe. I do. But for now, rain, wind, chill followed by sunny skies and that sharp blue of the sky I've only found in NZ. Beach minutes afar, down streets I know in a car, all mine. Soft, clean carpet. A cupboard with the most amazing food, opportunity to bake, cook, clean, read, write, run, tennis, netball, surf and generally do anything I want to.
I will live here. Not now, but I'll be back.
If there's one thing I know, I will never ever leave NZ forever.
I will always, ALWAYS be back.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Dimanche matin.
What is it with the French and their baguettes? It really is an obsession. A non-exaggerated, realistic portrayal rather than a horribly over-represented stereotype that permeated from nowhere.
Baguettes are everywhere.
My favourite part about the French and their baguettes is the innate ability of the baguette to break down all misconstrued perceptions and realistic conceptions of the wide and blatant divisions within French society. There are homeless people everywhere. I would say I can't remember the last time I went down a random street and there wasn't someone perched on a step, sullen in a corner or walking in circles to keep themselves warm and their total statelessness off their minds. Often, they have baguettes. I actually have no idea how because Parisians barely bat an eyelid at them or give them enough time in the day to even hold eye contact let alone give them any money (other than les centimes rouges), but somehow they manage to swindle baguettes from God knows where. So there they'll be, chilling quietly in the corner, faces down, matching positions to aid warmth with their cardboard signs in front of them, emblazoned with child's writing with 'SVP, j'ai faim', munching systematically on a baguette.
Similarly, (and an observation of mine from today, which is actually what started this whole pointless rant), is the interesting and amusing scenario of the upper class and their baguettes. They're not hard to spot, the upper class, you can see it on their face and in their dress that they are practically selling their wealth to you. Their noses are cast upwards, only slipping slightly and occasionally to dismiss those they walk past, their mouths frozen into pouts (peut être Botox?) and their fur coats, leather boots, freshly coiffed hair-dos and their refusal to move their umbrellas even a smidge classifies them as instant 8th arrondissement dwellers. Obviously only gracing other arrondissements in order to exude their grace, elegance and all-round upper class-ness. Today, these upper classes seem to be practically invading me and I was met countless times with the stares that have to be seen to be believed and in which no amount of words on paper (or teeny, perfect black letters on a large white screen) can explain.
But my favorite part of this type, is their complete transferal to normal humans who don't own 2 cars in a city lacking the design for vehicles, or owning an apartment three times the size of the local supermarket, despite spending the majority of their waking hours wining and dining and displaying the general air that they are better than everyone else, which clearly if you saw these apartments, you would agree they were. The baguettes change them.
An old lady walked past me, smothering me in her Chanel No. 5, donned entirely in Chanel clothing and clinging onto her walking stick. A middle aged man strutted along the sidewalk, wearing his Sunday best, his tie swinging gracefully behind his shoulder. A middle aged woman, the crisp, structured and uncreased style of her blazer, matching that of her expression.
But as they walked past me, seemingly oblivious to my lower class status (if you saw the state of my shoes and traveling clothes you too would understand), their eyes plastered on the road ahead, they lifted up their baguettes, brought them to their mouths and ripped out a hunk of the bread off the top, unable to wait to taste the deliciousness of a fresh baguette from the boulangerie.
As they walk on, the crumbs are scattered behind them, like a bad parody of Hansel and Gretel, practically waiting for a homeless Harry to come and gather them up.
Baguettes are everywhere.
My favourite part about the French and their baguettes is the innate ability of the baguette to break down all misconstrued perceptions and realistic conceptions of the wide and blatant divisions within French society. There are homeless people everywhere. I would say I can't remember the last time I went down a random street and there wasn't someone perched on a step, sullen in a corner or walking in circles to keep themselves warm and their total statelessness off their minds. Often, they have baguettes. I actually have no idea how because Parisians barely bat an eyelid at them or give them enough time in the day to even hold eye contact let alone give them any money (other than les centimes rouges), but somehow they manage to swindle baguettes from God knows where. So there they'll be, chilling quietly in the corner, faces down, matching positions to aid warmth with their cardboard signs in front of them, emblazoned with child's writing with 'SVP, j'ai faim', munching systematically on a baguette.
Similarly, (and an observation of mine from today, which is actually what started this whole pointless rant), is the interesting and amusing scenario of the upper class and their baguettes. They're not hard to spot, the upper class, you can see it on their face and in their dress that they are practically selling their wealth to you. Their noses are cast upwards, only slipping slightly and occasionally to dismiss those they walk past, their mouths frozen into pouts (peut être Botox?) and their fur coats, leather boots, freshly coiffed hair-dos and their refusal to move their umbrellas even a smidge classifies them as instant 8th arrondissement dwellers. Obviously only gracing other arrondissements in order to exude their grace, elegance and all-round upper class-ness. Today, these upper classes seem to be practically invading me and I was met countless times with the stares that have to be seen to be believed and in which no amount of words on paper (or teeny, perfect black letters on a large white screen) can explain.
But my favorite part of this type, is their complete transferal to normal humans who don't own 2 cars in a city lacking the design for vehicles, or owning an apartment three times the size of the local supermarket, despite spending the majority of their waking hours wining and dining and displaying the general air that they are better than everyone else, which clearly if you saw these apartments, you would agree they were. The baguettes change them.
An old lady walked past me, smothering me in her Chanel No. 5, donned entirely in Chanel clothing and clinging onto her walking stick. A middle aged man strutted along the sidewalk, wearing his Sunday best, his tie swinging gracefully behind his shoulder. A middle aged woman, the crisp, structured and uncreased style of her blazer, matching that of her expression.
But as they walked past me, seemingly oblivious to my lower class status (if you saw the state of my shoes and traveling clothes you too would understand), their eyes plastered on the road ahead, they lifted up their baguettes, brought them to their mouths and ripped out a hunk of the bread off the top, unable to wait to taste the deliciousness of a fresh baguette from the boulangerie.
As they walk on, the crumbs are scattered behind them, like a bad parody of Hansel and Gretel, practically waiting for a homeless Harry to come and gather them up.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Party season.
Planning for a best friends 21st is sure damn exciting. Its pretty much a blank canvas with no holding back, not that there's a rule book, but if there was, thats what it would say.
Speeches are planned and the numerous stories this particular being has are limitless, the difficulty is narrowing down the wide selection.
Alcohol + friends and family + a room full of people + a birthday girl = one helluva night.
I even have a wee video up my sleeve, little does the guest of honour know (so don't tell).
Saturday couldn't come fast enough.
Dishing embarrasment is my fav.o.u.r.i.t.e game.
So in advance (by about two months, but thats not the point), happy birthday Mil. May our violent, adventurous, outrageous and unique friendship continue around the world as we travel and for many, many more years to come.
Speeches are planned and the numerous stories this particular being has are limitless, the difficulty is narrowing down the wide selection.
Alcohol + friends and family + a room full of people + a birthday girl = one helluva night.
I even have a wee video up my sleeve, little does the guest of honour know (so don't tell).
Saturday couldn't come fast enough.
Dishing embarrasment is my fav.o.u.r.i.t.e game.
So in advance (by about two months, but thats not the point), happy birthday Mil. May our violent, adventurous, outrageous and unique friendship continue around the world as we travel and for many, many more years to come.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Snow way.
There is nothing like waking up, looking outside your bedroom window and being greeted by a beautiful white blanket hiding all else from view. SNOW! It has been years since my beautiful town has been blessed with snow. Its on par with 30 degree summer days, both rare and wonderful.
Rugged up in layers upon layers of clothing (looking and feeling 3 times my usual size which has benefits in added protection comforts). A friend and I spent the day with all the other 5 year olds (and the many of those our age acting like 5 year olds).
It is the day when rubbish bags become tabogan devices and winter comforts like soup and hot tea become up there with cellphones and laptops (or a roof over your head and safe love ones, depending on how materialistic you are).
My planned flight to Wellington was cancelled and delayed immeninently (as snow decides to settle and looks opposed to budging, another uncommon occurence here with snow normally followed by bright sunshine minutes later). But this fact I'm eagerly trying to erase from my thoughts (due to the fact the reason I was actually getting on that flight was kind of vital, think valid, legal entry into a country I plan to stay for more than 6 months...eek.)
But as I sit in front of a glorious fire, contemplating my weeks schedule and thinking of the best means to procrastinate that which I really have to do, the attempts of snowmen lie abandoned on the ground, remnants slowly melting away. The path of taboganning efforts remain distant reminders of the days unexpected joy, waiting for the future snowfall and reliable fun.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Limbo.
Currently in the midst of a prolonged period of nothingness. Waiting. Waiting for my dreams to take flight and months of organistion to come to fruition. Paris is a little over a month away and the realization of what I'm about to do is beginning to take effect. Cue: freak out. I'm a mad woman on a mission, I have visa's coming out my ears and am paper pushing like I didn't know possible (trees, forgive me, I WILL make it up to you.) A last minute flight to Wellington is around the corner and, I'm praying, will solidify the legal ability for me to enter France for a longer period of time than an idle holiday (and also prevents involving the law in my arrival).
Thoughts are churning, organisation, responsiblity, independence. C'est le test!
Filling the time by baking a delicious (albeit heavy on the waistline) batch of raspberry and white chocolate muffins, hot and steaming next to my waiting cup of tea. Fire is on, ugg boots snug on my chilled toes and the day is co-operating, it appears snow is on its way!
Thoughts are churning, organisation, responsiblity, independence. C'est le test!
Filling the time by baking a delicious (albeit heavy on the waistline) batch of raspberry and white chocolate muffins, hot and steaming next to my waiting cup of tea. Fire is on, ugg boots snug on my chilled toes and the day is co-operating, it appears snow is on its way!
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Relax TIME!!!
Leaving for Coolangatta, Austra.l.i.a. Tomorrow morning!
Can not wait. I have been wracking my little brain with media phrases, consititution dates and writing essays till my eyes fall out. Also while trying to juggle the insane, environmentally UN-friendly amounts of paperwork to get to Paris. There is so much paper I actually tried building a fort with it. Just another form of procrastination really.
But Uni is COMPLETE! How weird is the fact that I have finished with UC. My degree is pretty much DONE. So odd as I still feel juvenile, want to play on playgrounds and watch Harry Potter in my pyjamas all day long. My the stress and strain off the last few weeks (or month really, if you want to get all technical) is over and out and Coolangatta will refresh and rejuvenate me. with NO shaking. (So I hope, anyway, in a 17 storey building).
A tad over this shaking, constant shaking. Trying to run away from large buildings on a ground that feels like jelly. (No, this isn't a really bad way to describe a night out).
Earthquake free, sun laden, surfs up, shop till you drop holiday. MUCH deserved. Bring. it. on.
This is literally where I'm going. Oh my gee.
Can not wait. I have been wracking my little brain with media phrases, consititution dates and writing essays till my eyes fall out. Also while trying to juggle the insane, environmentally UN-friendly amounts of paperwork to get to Paris. There is so much paper I actually tried building a fort with it. Just another form of procrastination really.
But Uni is COMPLETE! How weird is the fact that I have finished with UC. My degree is pretty much DONE. So odd as I still feel juvenile, want to play on playgrounds and watch Harry Potter in my pyjamas all day long. My the stress and strain off the last few weeks (or month really, if you want to get all technical) is over and out and Coolangatta will refresh and rejuvenate me. with NO shaking. (So I hope, anyway, in a 17 storey building).
A tad over this shaking, constant shaking. Trying to run away from large buildings on a ground that feels like jelly. (No, this isn't a really bad way to describe a night out).
Earthquake free, sun laden, surfs up, shop till you drop holiday. MUCH deserved. Bring. it. on.
This is literally where I'm going. Oh my gee.
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