Une Flaneuse

Locanda Locatelli And The Last Days Of London

2007-07-13T11:11:00.000+10:00

Just wanted to put up a few words about the restaurant I'd been dying to go. I'd fallen in love with Giorgio after I first laid eyes on him on the fabulous Tony and Giorgio cooking show. Basically if you're passionate about real Italian cooking then you have me hook line and sinker. And that foppish hair and those eyes...

R got us in for her one and only night in London during our weekend visit, so it was tavolo per cinque, all spruced up. Giorgio greeted us at the reception and I got all shaky and giggly. He looks good. I'm pathetic.

The meal was everything I'd hoped. Good Italian cooking. Unpretentious and reasonably priced. Cute Italian waitstaff. No celebs but what can you do. We saw Jude Law in Paris so that makes up for it.

For my entree I had scoops of goats cheese that was incredibly light and fluffy, drizzled in balsamic reduction and served with baby beetroot and baby onions. My main was orecchiette with crushed peas, guancale and something else. Oh dear I've forgotten. Never mind it was delicious. I was definitely having three courses so dessert was a chocolate and licorice fondant - perfectly runny in the middle - with a scoop of icecream on the side. Two great wines, Chianti and Sangiovese, chosen by the clever wine man himself, Wayne. The girls, bless them, tried to get Giorgio to come out and spend a minute at our table, but he was too busy. It was very sweet of you to try!

We then had some gorgeous martinis at The Purple Bar at the Sanderson. R really is the girl about town. What a fabulous night!

---

The sun did come out that weekend so it was delightful to stroll around the Thames (less delightful to push and shove our way through Oxford Street trying to get some last minute bargains. Horrible stuff, but managed to pick up a couple of pieces from COS and TopShop). Went to Borough Markets which were brilliant and had wild boar sausage hot dogs, then went to the scallop man (cute in a seafaring way) for three plump scallops served with crunchy bacon on the shell. Had a delicious curry (right around the corner from you, R, have you tried it?). We hopped on the London Eye for beautiful views and caught up with A again for lunch at Leon and some of my happiest buys - including the most perfect trench from Gap! Finally, a trenchcoat!

We had some great last laughs, and then Monday morning it was time to head home...

2007-07-11T10:20:00.000+10:00

In Numbers:

Weight at departure: 58.0kg
Weight at arrival: 60.8kg
Weight of luggage at departure: 14.4kg
Weight of luggage at arrival: 30kg
Books taken/read: 3/0.5
Pairs of shoes bought: 4
Money spent: Beaucoup

2007-07-10T11:07:00.000+10:00

Almost home.

Is this the same trip that started with Carlo's eyes and handcuffed-scarred 'bracelets'? Kissing and screaming in Madrid. Cold in Amsterdam. Kinship in Dublin. Yes, it has all been this one trip, this one mad, amazing, beautiful trip.

Coming home. The fine line between answering polite 'what was the highlight'-type questions and sharing ridiculous anecdotes. Who can understand the sensation of dancing with others in that magical instant in Privilege or the joy of bathroom sex with a well-known Ibiza DJ?

(It's funny because I already feel closer to home, almost barring that last line so as not to seem crass. But I am crass, and sexual, and crazy, and if anything that is why I travel, to get closer to that real Julia).

But with repetition, and interruptions, the magic of the anecdote seems to be betrayed or pimped out. These moments are my jewels and it is hard to reconcile.

Writing is the happy medium I think. So here I am at Changi, putting a few last thoughts down, although there will be many more updates - Locanda Locatelli; photos. Now it's time to get back on yet another plane, pop a sleeping pill and wake up to a beautiful family.

Dublin

2007-07-07T03:10:00.000+10:00

In London

2007-07-07T02:45:00.000+10:00

How wonderful to have arrived in London at R's gorgeous apartment after a bit of a manic morning! Is there anything better while travelling than a normal shower (ie, one that doesn't flood or cut out or go cold or get walked in upon halfway through by a yeti), with a full leg shave and hair wash? Nope!

Dublin was brilliant. Spending three days with beautiful Ruth was really special - such good catching up - with her treating me to taking me around some of the best of the city and country. One day was spent on the best pub crawl, drinking creamy Guinness at the oldest watering holes, so full of character and charm. Another included a divine lunch at Dublin's top restaurant, then drinking at all the posh places - gentleman's clubs and swanky hotels. In the dark we drove down to the south to stay at a farmhouse. An incredible experience, to wake up in a big fluffy bed overlooking the rainswept beach, and to cook a full Irish breakfast. Memo to self: must learn how to make Irish soda bread. Then we visited some historic, mystical magical place that we'll definitely come back to for more.

It was colder than home and when the rain stopped for a minute I even began to praise how mild it was - oh dear! That's what spending time in this god foresaken weather will do to you!

We laughed, drank, really talked. A rare gift.

And now in London. May the sun peep out for just a few last moments of my northern summer. And then it'll be the anticipation of hugs and kisses with nearest and definitely dearest.

Leaving

2007-07-03T01:36:00.000+10:00

A bit emotional today. Maybe because Im on my own for the first time in weeks, maybe because its being in Paris and a bit sentimental - quiche in the Jardin de Luxembourg; eating eclairs - maybe because its my last day in non-English Europe, maybe the lack of cigarettes after a month of heavy smoking.

It has been nice to play tourguide in Paris this time. Familiar yet always new Paris. I feel a bit disconnected from everything and everywhere today. Its probably fatigue. Unbelievably tired. I need a bed, a beach, or a hug.

Tonight, Dublin. Cant wait to see R in her neck of the woods. And then London, and then the concept of home enters the mind.

Barcelona, Florence, Amsterdam

2007-06-27T04:43:00.000+10:00

I miss Ibiza.

Barcelona was great. A really cool place with a good vibe. More insane people. Just when you think you have seen all the quirkiness that life has to offer, there's more. We shopped; ate "the world's most delicious sandwich" (Mark Bittman) - the flauta of rich dark fatty jamon iberico between perfectly crunchy bread, which was so good we went back for more; went to the amazing Parc Guell; ate ridiculously good tapas at Paco Meralgo (a day after Pim) and Ferran Adrian's brother's Inopia, and I finally had a paella that I enjoyed - more than that, swooned over every last grain of rice.

Then a few days in Florence. Mostly to shop. Two pairs at YSL that make me very happy, and plates of pasta and Tuscan bread that possibly make me even happier. Florence is a nightmare though. Never again. The heat (36C), the tourists, the crowds. Not finding Grom. Enough.

Now, Amsterdam. We arrive a day earlier because our flight was cancelled and it is 16C and raining. Nothing to wear, cold. The deep tan looks nuts. The staircases are so steep and tiny. But we are in love. We share a joint in a coffeehouse with boys playing dice games and today in a rasta bar. We eat too much but it is so delicious. Everyone is on bikes. We feel good about this place and feel it is somewhere we could live. Who knows?

Time for the red light district. Be good.

Ibiza

2007-06-20T02:08:00.000+10:00

Just arrived in Barcelona. There are no words, at least now, for Ibiza. We are very emotional at having to leave. We had the most incredible, insane, crazy, fun, mind-boggling, beautiful week. I´ve never laughed so much in my life, or been amazed by everything around me.

So for now, enjoy some photos, while we step out for that consoling Marlboro Light.

Madrid

2007-06-20T02:05:00.001+10:00

Toscana

2007-06-20T01:45:00.000+10:00

¨Un Paccheto di Marlboro Lights¨

2007-06-11T17:08:00.000+10:00

One of my favourite phrases in the world.

A plane to Singapore, a plane to London, a coach to Gatwick, a plane to Bologna, a bus to the train station, a train to Arezzo. And then a hug with S, and a drive to a small Tuscan town called Sinalunga.

Girl On A Motorbike

And the next two days I ride on the back of his motorbike, around the backhills of Toscana. Bella Toscana. The wind swirling through my borrowed jacket, scented with wildflowers and hay and pecorino and later, rain. We have lunch in Montepulciano of antipasto and the most delicious pasta I have eaten, homemade parpadelle with porcini and truffles, with local Brunello. The next day we ride to the sea, to Castiglione della Pescaia and swim and sunbake on the beach. It´s the kind of beauty that makes me weep inside. He doesn´t want to swim so I jump on his back with my cold body. At the beach restaurant, with sandy feet, we share tomato risotto with seafood and then feast on fritto, white wine. For two days we ride the bends of small, small villages, in between vineyards and farms and the greens of Tuscany that are indescribable.

I think of A the first day I am on the bike. I think of riding on a bike with him, wondering if our thoughts ever cross, and snap myself out of it. It is time to live in the moment.

People ask me what expectation I have for seeing S, and it is hard to impart that there is none. I came to simply be an eagle soaring across the sun*. And I had a stillness inside me for two days, for two days with someone who is beautiful and crazy, sometimes I think not of this world. Definitely not of this world.

Ti voglio bene. In Between To Like And To Love

At the airport we smoke a goodbye, and I smoke to help the nausea, the intense desire to throw up at this feeling. Smoking is the only thing that helps.

Madrid

Here D and I are in Madrid. It´s great fun. We drop our bags in the hostel and can´t believe it. We are too old for this shit. It seems like a good idea in the comfort of my loungeroom in a sauvignon blanc haze, but here, with bunk beds that creek when you blink and drainless bathrooms, we rebook future accommodation and go to enjoy our first tapas. Bars are everywhere, every street and every tiny lane. We wash down delicious raciones with half litres of beer before enormous fatigue hits us for the next 12 hours. Today, after coffee and churros we explored around Puerto del Sol, ate bocadillos with dark jamon, shopped a little then went to Fast Good, Ferran Adria´s cheap and cheerful cafe, and since I won´t be going to El Bulli anytime soon, I was bursting with excitement to come here. Hamburgers with chips and chocolate mousse in little glass jars, it is cult and delicious and we loved it. Very cool.

Eh bien, continuons. Besitos.

* Osho

Lastly

2006-07-11T15:13:00.000+10:00

Photos are up, if you'd like to take a look xox

Thank You And Good Night

2006-07-10T15:33:00.000+10:00

My last day in Paris was more Berthillon ice-cream and delicious mint tea at the Institut du Monde Arabe, and a failed attempt to see N and G. And then it was goodbye Paris, a la prochaine.

The Eurostar took me to London, which jetted me to Tokyo (oh the nerves of not knowing if France had made it to the finals), where I spent a fab-o if not manic 12 hours. I met and had a delicious pizza with Miss Pink, which had me a little nervous beforehand, I mean she's just so cool, but as cool as she is she is equally as lovely; then the 'quintessential Tokyo experience' courtesy of super Jo: gorgeous fresh sushi, Hello Kitty, fun photo booth photos and running back for the train, which I knew would never get me there in time, so I had to cab it. 22,000 yen, or $AUD300. Ouchy. Then it was back on the plane, arriving home early, sleeping all day, and getting on with it.

Thank you for reading my travel notes, and I hope to pick up right here when I next take off.

xox

What A Day

2006-07-04T02:59:00.000+10:00

From my Moleskine this morning:

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod I just saw John Galliano, marching through the Jardin des Tuileries with his trainer, angry and bitchy on his mobile which he slammed down and then resumed his power walking and exercises. Salmon hoodie with grey tracksuit pants. Hair in dishevelled bun. Heavy English accent. (five minutes later) And they just walked past me! He's short.

Oh yes, I was very excited. John Galliano! I think it could only be surpassed in fashion terms if I saw Herr Karl. Id never been to the Tuileries before (I love the Jardin de Luxembourg) but decided to have a look this morning, and there you go. I had a walk around Rue Cambon for Chanel and the gorgeous surrounding shops, then had a chocolat chaud a l'ancienne at Angelina. Oh. My. It was more than as good as everyone says. A small pot of thick dark hot chocolate arrives with a small bowl of delicious whipped cream, and a cup. You add the cream as you wish, and youre left with about three cups of the most creamy, thick, heavenly hot chocolate you could ever imagine. Seriously, this is not just a gimmick to cross off the list. It was pure delight. The intense heat outside did not matter, I could not imagine trying anything else.

Then on to Collette, and I liked it much more than three years ago. The fashion upstairs was pretty spectacular and I bought a few items on the ground floor. I fleeted around town for the next couple of hours, finally coming back and having a wonderful menu du jour for a ridiculous 10.50E. Chicken liver with salad (you know I love my liver!), salmon roasted with olive oil, and a cheese plate. I could barely move afterwards, but dragged myself to the 18th where I wanted to go to the Musee Gustave Moreau but had no idea it was that late, and actually it wasnt there at all, so came back into the centre.

I felt it a good time to go to Rue de Verneuil, where Gainsbourg lived. I left singing Histoire de Melody Nelson, inspired by all the graffiti. The black doors were a humble link to his life, and it was quite potent.

And yesterday, my little pilgrimage was to Jim Morrison's last residence, since 2 July was the day he died (in 1971), and since our birthdays are the same, yesterday I was the same age as when he died (27). I can only imagine his last months in Paris were some of his best. Summer in Paris can be pretty nice...

Paris

2006-07-04T02:32:00.000+10:00

I was dizzy with memories when I took my first steps in Paris: the streets, the overwhelming memories, the love, the tears. But I was so happy, couldnt wipe the smile off my face. It mirrored Jeanne Moreau's magnificent smile from Ascenseur pour l'echafaud that was plastered on the Hotel de Ville for the Paris Au Cinema exhibition, which I luckily saw before it finished that evening.

And then, my first Paris culinary experience: dinner at L'os a moelle, with N. I was so excited at going here, and my hopes of a fantastic meal were surpassed. A 6 course degustation for 38E, and we took the waiter's recommendation of swapping halfway through each dish so we could taste it all. In brief: an amuse-bouche of sliced zucchini and frothed cream; cool soups of tomatoes with croutons and jamon/cream of mushroom with pine nuts; quail with crispy skin/seared fois gras, one of the most delicious things Ive ever eaten, oh...; fish with roast potatoes/the other with two pieces of marrowbone on the top - like pearls in the mouth; lamb/beef; slice of delicate blue cheese with balsamic radicchio; and dessert, which we kept to ourselves, mine was quenelle of chocolate. Along with a kir and a gorgeous bottle of red, it was a fantastic meal. The chef came out to each table afterwards and asked how we liked the meal. I was gushing!

Sunday was a trip to the Musee Nissim de Camondo. Such an interesting, beautiful place, like the Frick in NY. Moise de Camondo was one of the finest collectors of 18th century art, furniture and objects, and everything in the house is prerserved as he wished. And I love seeing bedrooms and kitchens from olden days. His son, Nissim, was killed in WW1, and his daughter and her family were killed in Aushwitz, the end to the de Camondos. Hardly anyone knows about this beautiful place, which is kind of nice, its a real treasure.

Last night I had a falafel at the famous L'as du falafel, on rue de Rosiers, the Jewish hub. It really was like little-somewhere-in-Israel - dusty, crazy, bustling. Kippahs, star of Davids, religious boys and men in black. And even though I didnt feel like falafel - I had a craving for my favourite Asian traiteur, but I joined the queue because I knew Id kick myself if I didnt make it - it was absolutely delicious. Light, more-ishly crunchy on the outside falafel, cabbage, grilled eggplant, hummous, and only 4E. Washed down with their incredible citronnade (I went back for another today), Im very glad I made it.

Theres been lots of flaneurie, the best past-time in Paris. As much as there are so many interesting exhibits at the moment, movies too, I cant stop myself from walking around and seeing new and old streets, shops, cafes, people.

On Top Of The World!

2006-07-02T09:03:00.000+10:00

Its 1am or so, and Im on Cloud Nine. The streets are still blocked with car honking, cheering, dancing, singing, pure happiness.

I watched the game at an Algerian bar in the 18th with dear N and G, and after the sweet victory - oh, what a game!!! - the owner treated us to more cold beers before I left to catch the last Metro, jam packed with revellers. It is a very close second to being in Paris in 98, and this game was just as good as any final. We beat Brazil!!! Henry is a champion, Zidane is a master, Barthez is a genius! We fucking beat Brazil!

Im bouncing off the walls, I am so so so happy!!!

St Malo

2006-06-29T03:29:00.000+10:00

Here I am, in quiet St Malo, on the west coast of France. Ive only just started speaking to everyone in French - imagine that, I wait for three years to speak French and once here Im speaking Italian. I was in desperate need of a few days of tranquility, and thats exactly what I have here, in abundance. Theres only the very young, the old (who stroll arm in arm day and night, bless), and this magnificent beach. It stretches for miles and the tides really are something else. In the afternoon you have to walk ten minutes to get to the water and in the evening the waves are hitting the boardwalk, bringing up fresh seaweed. The sand is so soft and sparkles like stardust. The air is the most delicious sea air, very fresh and healthy.

Last night over moules frites I watched France win and was so so happy, cheering with the locals who love the oddity of an Australian girl who supports France. I missed seeing Australia play Italia as every single bar, cafe, restaurant in Florence was bursting, and I walked for two hours trying to find a place to watch, only hearing the last minute cheer and raced in to see what happened, but good on Australia for keeping Italy at bay, and for making it through. France have renewed vigour, and I really hope this 98 rematch coming up can do them proud. Zidane is still one of the classiest players and deserves a fitting end.

Today I went to Cancale to do exactly what Id always wanted to there: eat the oysters that are the most famous in the world. I chose 6 of the top class ones and 6 of the sauvage type (5.50E) and sat on the perch with everyone else sucking them down and tossing the beautiful shells onto the bay, for prosperity. They were good, briney and silky smooth, but I must say now that Ive had them, you cant beat a Sydney rock or Pacific.

A la prochaine...

Everywhere You Go, Always Take The Weather With You

2006-06-26T04:12:00.000+10:00

Thats very much the case with me. I planned to flaneur around Bologna today, but it was 40 and no breeze. But I had my prosciutto San Daniele and tortellini in brodo (oh, yum) so I achieved what I came here for. Could only think of moving on so headed down to Florence, and to the place I stayed three years ago (and where I met Ruth). Its exactly the same and just as great.

Florence is on heat. Ive never seen such crowds, so thank god for gelato (two today: fior di latte e fino di mondo, and limoncello e mura). Its temporary relief from this landlocked heat. African fake bag sellers are everywhere, as are beggers and ciao bellas. Its just as beautiful but hard to appreciate - what a difference a month makes! I was here in May and you could stand back and contemplate the Duomo and the piazzas, now it is swamped with tourists and someone out for a buck.

Vai Australia! I hope to catch the game but uh, um, Ill also be at The Mall...

Viva Italia!

2006-06-25T19:55:00.000+10:00

You arrive at the airport, and this is what awaits you.

I Say Saregna, You Say Saronno, Should We Just Call The Whole Thing Off?

2006-06-25T19:43:00.000+10:00

The train from Como to Ruths cousins place somewhere between Como and Milan was one of those surreal life experiences. We had the whole compartment involved, the United Nations as it were, everyone managing to communicate somehow that we had no idea where we were and that meeting her, already called off the night before as it was impossible to with the crazy transport, may not be happening again, but, for the millionth time in three days, we made it.

We had a gorgeous lunch with her cousin who has been living just outside of Milan with her typically gorgeous Italian boyfriend, before hopping on the train and saying our hurried goodbyes at Centrale. Now Im in Bologna, just for the day, to eat massive amounts of tortellini and then tomorrow, The Mall in Florence. Tomorrow night, the overnight train to Bretagne. Oh Italy, how I love you.

Thousand Words

2006-06-25T19:25:00.000+10:00

Oh yea, this is what its all about

Siracusa

Taormina

Palermo

Maravigliosa at 10 Corso Como

Breakfast In Switzerland, And Other Crazy Capers

2006-06-25T05:30:00.000+10:00

The past three days have been crazy. I flew from Palermo to Milano on Wednesday and met Ruth at the hotel. Ruth, for those playing at home, is the most wonderful girl who I met in Firenze three years ago, and we hit it off immediately, so it was the best present when she told me she would meet me while I was over, and we chose Milan, with a sidetrip to Lake Como.

I cant begin to document every amazing, hilarious, crazy thing that happened to us, so just some highlights...

Our first dinner in the Brera district, being eaten alive by mosquitos and given a bottle of Off! from the waitress - you are all getting this in your Christmas stockings, it is the best thing ever, followed by the fortune teller who you just wouldnt want your fortune read from.

Dancing to Italian love songs in the laundromat (Ruth, forgot to tell you, there was a note in the bag with the carefully folded laundry: sei semplicemente "meravigliosa". And to a certain someone reading this, that makes two meravigliosas in recent times, wink wink ;-)

Going to 10 Corso Como. This has been a dream of mine since I was little, oh yes, and it was so so cool and different as I hoped. I didnt buy anything but the French martinis and Chambord kir royales we had in their cafe after a long browse was the best purchase.

Next stop was Il Salvagente, the discount designer store but as it was closed for lunch we went looking for a place to grab a bite to eat, and stumbled upon the most amazing restaurant. It was after 2 and for some reason everything in the area was quiet, but the owner warmly welcomed us in. It was a gorgeous-looking restaurant and we expected everything to be expensive, but the lunch menu was 13E and was sensational. Gnochetti with vegetables followed by cotoletta milanese for me, pesto and salmon for Ruth, and all brought out covered in those grand silver lids and we couldnt believe our luck. Then more of that amazing coffee, and as we left the owner gave us her homemade biscuits as well as her recipe for pesto and we hugged and kissed and it was just so lovely.

And of course, a walk down Via Montenapoleone. Would you expect anything less. And we both just loved it, the window displays so clever and creative. I bought some more Aqua di Parma perfume, before rushing off to pick up our tickets for La Scala. My feet have never hurt so much but we made it, just, and laughed our way to the cheap seats in the very back. Ill explain how bad their were in person and bless the Japanese tourists in front of us who took off at intermission and left us being able to sit straight, if not to see much better. It was though a fantastic experience and we had a great laugh and thank you so much Ruth for the tickets xox

And then...me falling in love with Milan (see later) and asking people about rent and cost of living...Jamie Oliver the annoying prat from Norway at the bar where we finally got nibblies with our wine...the beautiful taxi drivers making us double over with laughter...the cheeky devil train attendants and Ruth intepreting when the station closes at 1 come and see me as when the moon clouds over...hearing this: "do you speak English?" - "I am speaking English"...our last lunch at Peck...

Then it was off to Lake Como, including the encounter with the village nutter who spoke perfect Russian. The bus up to Menaggio was unreal, we were both gobsmacked with how beautiful it is, like a fairytale place that cant quite be real. While drinking and madly Off!ing ourselves we thought how crazy it would be to go to Switzerland for breakfast and so we did. We got the 6.02 across the border and were a bit dismayed when nothing was open, but then spotted a queue outside a shop at 7.30 and rushed in along with half the town to have a fantastic apple pie and coffee (paid in old school francs), then headed back, sleeping on the bus...

The Kindness Of Strangers

2006-06-21T02:50:00.000+10:00

Youd think I could at least take a look at a map, before setting off on another day's adventures. But thats me, happy-go-lucky me. I can spend the months beforehand daydreaming with books and google of far-off places but once there, I just kick back on my instinct and see where it gets me. I went to Agrigento today, in the south of Sicily, arrived without knowing a thing, and thats where the kindness of strangers makes itself abundant. With my Beginners Level 2 Italian and their fast Italian, we make each other understand, and then the bus driver doesnt want my money, and suddenly Im in the Valley of Temples.

In the mid-30s heat, I stagger around kilometres of 2,500 year old temples and rocks, dousing myself in aqua minerale frizzante, never feeling closer to my hero Meursault, and in wonder, both at how beautiful and old it is, (um...did you miss that? Two thousand five hundred years old. I cant remember what I did yesterday), and just how the hell they did it. Why couldnt they just chill out with olives and oranges? Ah, because of the gods. I listen to the how, the why, the who, and the sacrifies they made, and as I conjure up images of goats roasting into the clear blue sky for the appeasement of the gods, I think its time to appease my tummy, and head back into the centre.

Its the siesta hour, and nothing is working (neither shops, cafes or my debit card) and I stumble upon a tiny panicceria and buy the most delicious arancino and pizza for nothing at all, and feast under the incredible midday sun.

Here I am back in Palermo, and I really like it here, the chaos, the dust, the all. Theres a certain Palermo personality who is in love with me, begging me to stay, declaring his love with words and letters, but its always the way, never who you want. Tomorrow, Milano, and meeting my dear Ruth. The adventure sans map continues.

Palermo

2006-06-20T02:42:00.000+10:00

Arrived in Palermo yesterday afternoon, and you know youre back in the big city. Its huge, traffic is crazy, the streets are dusty and Ive already had a coffee with the Mafia. But more on that with more time.

Today I spent the day in Cefalu, a gorgeous old town 45 minutes east of Palermo with a stunning beach. It was one of those blissful moments that lasted all day, swimming in the refreshing cool sea, the water crystal clear and blue, baking on the scorching sand, surrounded by hundreds of beautiful Italians and their cherub children. Lunch of carpaccio of all different kinds of fish, more cold beer, and then a big fat gelato, before another dip in the ocean. Bliss.

E Una Fatticaccia!

2006-06-17T19:13:00.000+10:00

I have walked so much these past 6 days that I must have legs of steel. My pedicured feet are blistered and stung (more on that later). Im now in Taormina, this glitzy, ritzy town thats very much like Capri, set high on a cliff with sparkling waters way down below, expensive shops, dotted with wildflowers and littered with tourists. As soon as I arrived after a morning of buses and more trekking to the hostel, I dropped my bags, detoured via the beautiful Teatro Greco and got the cable car down to the beach. Of course the free beach is quite a hike and I was surprised to see no one in the water, although the beach itself was packed. I jumped over the hot stones to the waters edge and dipped my feet in...only to see thousands of small red jellyfish hogging the water. Aaaah! I got stung just by one, and so had to contend myself with baking and not cooling off.

Taormina is a ridiculously romantic place as well, how can it not be, and its beautiful to see all the couples (there are only couples), of all ages, walk hand in hand, kiss, talk, stroll. Yes, its hit me a little today, just a little. But the men have been good here, and its true, that the Sicilian men arent nearly as bad as the northeners, that its just a myth from ye olden days. There was a ragazzi who planted himself practically on top of me at the beach yesterday, and for the first time I slipped on a ring on that finger, to disuade him. Felt very false, and I had to take it off.

So Im at a hostel, and the place has its freaks, and Im reminded of that feeling of never wanting to stay in hostels again. Older men should not stay in hostels. Hes a nice enough guy, but goes on and on about how cheap he is, his eyes light up when he shares his secrets of trekking for miles to some grocery store to save 5 cents here or 15 cents there. Woo hoo! Theres an older woman, obviously recently heart-broken, treating herself to her first vacation, but she looks a nervous wreck. And then those Canadian backpackers, tattooing their huge packs with Canadian flags and pins. OK, so youre telling us youre not American, we get the point! You still look like prats though!

Siracusa was wonderful. So old, so decrepid, making Venice look like Dubai, and there lies its charm. I fell in love with its tiny lanes and traffic jams and small town ambiance. My last night I went to see Ecuba at the Teatro Greco and that was an awesome experience. And Ive been reading Alberto Moravia's Contempt, and that has put my head into a spin...I wanted to read it here as a significant part is set in Capri, and wanted to feel the Greek gods' power resontate with the power of the modern day story of a relationship falling apart...I love the book, but kinda wish Id started something less thought-provoking.

Happiness Is

2006-06-16T01:22:00.000+10:00

...Cool sweet almond granita for breakfast overlooking the sea.
...A snail's pace stroll with cigarette through the myriad of tiny little alleys.
...Stumbling upon the markets, with produce riping in the shade and sellers yelling, beautiful shiny fish of all kinds, figs the size of apples for 2E a kilo, capers smothered in salt.
...Swimming in the Meditteranean.
...The first kisses of the sun on my skin, turning it the colour of honey.
...A cold Peroni and plate of spaghetti ai gamberi et panna, the prawns fragrant and tasting of the sea, followed by a limoncello that goes down a dream, a Sicilian dream.
...An afternoon nap on a full tummy.

June 13, 2006

2006-06-14T16:17:00.000+10:00

I woke up extra early (need an alarm clock) and thought of doing a few things (Porsche museum, art gallery for the Monet exhibit) but hit the schlossplatz and knew it was a day of flaneurie. They love a self-service pastry shop here (think Chinatown/Bread Story but with pastries, donuts and paninis) so I grabbed a pastry and wondered the streets. A fruit, vegetable and flower market was starting and the produce was amazing. Beautiful white asparagus, mushrooms of all kinds, perfumed roses. I gorged myelf on a huge punnet of the most fragrant, deliciously warm strawberries, and while I wanted to try the local spetzl - potato dumplnigs that look like worms which I love - I was enchanted by a deli on the main square, one which specialised in all kinds of wurst, the other two doors up with cheese. I bought a slice of incredible baked salmon and spinach quiche, a slice of beef wurst, and a salad of deliciously gelatinous shaved beef wurst with pickles, and had a picnic in the park. On such a warm, blue sky day, it was pure delight.

All morning the schlossplatz was gathering with red and white, and red, blue and white. By noon the streets were buzzing with team chants, horns, flags waved and beer glasses chinking. The atmosphere was unlike anything I could imagine and it was so much fun. Camera crews filled the scene, desperate fans held signs up begging for tickets (one offered 2000E for a game) and one of the biggest French fans who Id seen the night before at the Italy-Ghana game handed me a rose, because 'la rose dans la vie, c'est toi'.

When I walked out of the hostel decked in my French tshirt, 98 World Cup scarf, and my newest purchases, a huge flag and a whistle, I felt like the triumphant Hitler walking towards the Eiffel Tower.

The feeling of being there is indescribable, and I cant put it into words. Except for these: when I walked into the stadium and saw my seats, and just how good they were, my smile said it all. I was in the French section, in the corner, row 24, and saw it all. I never imagined such great seats. (Sidenote: the pork sandwich I had at the food stands was one of the most delicious things Ive ever eaten, the pork steak barbecued to perfection). Ricky Martin blasted through the speakers of a beautiful stadium, which was sold out with 52,000 fans. I sang that beautiful anthem at the top of my lungs and cheered Zizou, Henry, Ribery, Barthez. I was consciously aware throughout the whole time that I was fulfiling a dream, and what an electric feeling that is. Despite the 0-0 draw, it was a great game, Switzerland played very well, France needed to be faster and Zidane and Henry dominated. Not a heave of disappointment that no goals were scored. Id seen France play in the World Cup.

Stuttgart

2006-06-13T15:57:00.000+10:00

I forgot the long days of summer in Europe, and how wonderful it is. Not even before I could open my door at the hostel, there was an invite to join some people in the main square to watch Italy-Ghana. That first shower is heaven. But it was a quick one and then out the door to join thousands and thousands of Italy-supporting locals for the 9pm kickoff, and it was bright light until 9.40, and so warm, and there it was, with delicious rotewurst and cold beer, and cigarettes (the French have nothing on these people) I watched a great game of football, laughed and cheered amongst a sea of people as far as the eye could see.

A Few Hours In London

2006-06-13T15:41:00.000+10:00

...and jesus it was great.

The Tube; the overcrowded, overly hot Tube; the station names; "Mind The Gap"; mini cabs; the feeling of summer in the air; friendly people in shops and stations; a crayfish and rocket sandwich at my beloved Pret.

I met R at the same place I met her last time, and she took me to to the funky meatpacking district for brunch (past St Johns, one day...). Over fried eggs, cigarettes and coffee, we had a great girltalk in a gorgeous warehouse cafe and the anxieties of the past few weeks melted away. I know there are people more deserving of a holiday than me, and this weighed me down, but now Im here, Im just so happy.

I shopped up a storm in record time over at Oxford Circus. TopShop, which just bewildered me before, was a treasure trove of pure delight. While everything I was gaga over was sold out in my size, I picked up a gorgeous black shift dress and two pairs of earrings, then next door a red PVC belt, and lots and lots of goodies at Boots. Boots! Then back to Heathrow...

Numbers

2006-06-13T15:24:00.000+10:00

Spent 1 hour of the 9 hour Sydney-Bankgok leg of the 22 hour flight over here seriously calculating how to afford business class next time. "One less coffee a week, one less 'go-on-treat-yourself' lunch or dress...". You know me, I LOVE flying, but it was torture. A full flight, so cramped, very hard. Luckily I had a sweet couple from Adelaide on the way to Bangkok and then to London a lovely English-French moneyed-up-but-$US2-a-night-is-way-too-much-to-spend-on-hotels hippy who sealed our short friendship with the eternal backpackers gift, a beaded shell string bracelet from Laos.

---

My new toy is a wonderful 8 megapixel digital SLR camera. It was $799 (a grand in Bangkok). It feels just like a film SLR and I love it. They dont even sell the latter anymore. Fingers crossed the photos are as great as the camera, or that they even turn out.

Why I'm Going

2006-06-08T13:14:00.000+10:00

Written Sunday Afternoon, 28 May 2006

I'm sitting here, having bowed out of any plans, watching the highlights of the 98 World Cup final, between France and Brazil. I have more than a pang of wishing I was there, who doesn't really. My crush Djorkaeff...Barthez...Aimee Jacquet (why did you leave...)...the balding Zizou...Karembeu, the link to my second home at the time...Roberto Carlos...the dramas with Ronaldo leading up to it...oh, what a time, what a tournament. What a final.

In New Caledonia that summer the streets with 30km speed limits had a dash added between the 3 and 0, France over the 3, Brazil over the 0, and it was gold.

I cried every night for three nights after it ended, withdrawl symptoms of a month of very early rises, sitting in the cold gym watching as many games as we could, falling deeper in love with a game I instinctively loved, and for a tournament that I vowed one day I would attend.

What I'm Doing

2006-06-08T10:12:00.000+10:00

June 11: Leave Sydney
June 12: Stop in London for a few hours; have lunch with gorgeous R; stock up at Boots; fly on to Stuttgart
June 13: France v Switzerland (!!!)
June 14: Fly to Sicily. Spend a week in Siracusa, Taormina, Palermo
June 21: Milan, Lake Como - spend a few days with dear friend R
June 24: Bologna
June 26: The Mall, nuff said; overnight train to Paris
June 27: Straight to north Brittany
June 30-July 5: Paris
July 6: 13 daylight hours in Tokyo; arrive in Sydney July 7

If you'd like to catch up, buzz me at relookage@gmail.com.