Thanks to Iceland, I’ve made my biggest achievement of 2012 so far, and it’s only January: I can now pronounce Eyjafjallajökull. More or less. The ‘less’ being that to pronounce the double ‘L’ on the end you do this weird side-mouth mini fart which I can kinda do. I can fudge my way through it if I say it fast enough and trail off. I dare you to do better.

So… I kinda popped back up to Iceland (I told ya I would! See my first Iceland post) but this time in winter to a) see the northern lights, and b) meet some designers/check out the Icelandic design scene/make some connections. And Niceland didn’t dissappoint. It never does.

Reykjavik was as gorgeous as ever, with fairy lights decorating the streets and the snow falling. FYI I don’t think it’s even normal snow because it’s crazy soft which makes the blizzards such a delight. Reykjavik is the world’s smallest big city, it’s cosmopolitan in spirit but still preserves that good old village feeling. Everyone talks to each other like they know them… because they probably do, lets be honest. They’re the funniest, most quirky and witty people I’ve ever met. Not to mention STUNNING.

even trees need knitwear sometimes

11am

I spent my first day on a tour to Snæfellsnes Peninsula to get straight back into the wild countryside see more of the country before spending the rest of my time in the city. It’s actually ridiculously tricky to plan stuff like this in winter when there’s only 4-5 hours of daylight available. But we set off at 8am and headed up north through a 5.7km long tunnel that dives to 165m below sea level under a fjord. It’s always warm and dry in there because the volcanic rock still gives off heat! Now HOPEFULLY the name Snæfellsnes sounds familiar, if you have good taste in literary classics, because Snæfellsjökull is the entry point of the volcanic tunnel in Jules Verne’s “Journey to the Centre of the Earth” (… except they come out in Italy instead). But there ARE volcanic tunnels! One’s that look like crystal stores, stretch for miles and go 40m deep!… that we couldn’t visit because the entry hole was filled with snow - you wouldn’t even know it was there from the road side. “Snæfellsnes” is the peninsula area but slap “jökull” (Icelandic for “glacier” AND “frappuccino”!) in there and you got yourself a volcano.

sunrise at noon

walking along the coast was HILARIOUS - we didn’t know how deep the snow was so every few steps your foot would randomly sink into kneehigh snow! kept us laughing:)

you can’t see but there’s a wee seal swimmin’ around in there

The coast was stunning as the sun was coming up around noon but I have NEVER been so cold in my life. I was a meat popsicle. The tide takes just six hours to come in and rises to four metres. We saw a massive flock of Gannets, also known as ‘queens of the Atlantic’, circling over the sea then dropping like daggers as they dive-bomb for Herring. We were told too about a sea bird (“Seabird”? “a sea bird”?) that’s not only a relative of the Albatross but will puke on you if you come to close to it’s nest. But it’s not just puke, it’s puke that burns holes through your clothes! We drove through beautiful snow covered landscapes and past fields of Icelandic horses that look like little ponies. You daren’t refer to them as ‘ponies’ though, the locals take that seriously. Did you know the ‘horses’ come in 270 different colours?! And have developed five different gaits (horse-swagger) for walking over lava fields, from being bred in isolation for so long?! Bloody hell! GOSH!*

We stopped by a small house where a lady cooked us delicious horse meat and vege soup for lunch. I never thought I’d ever write ‘delicious’ and ‘horse meat’ in the same sentence, but life’s a funny thing (just like horse-swagger). The best part of the trip to Snæfellsnes was seeing a Greenland White Falcon! It was all white and feathery and swoopy and RARE! The tour guide had never even seen one so we were pretty stoked. The second best part of the tour was seeing my first snowbow - a rainbow but with snow!

aaaahh, snowbow 

Enough fun, time for some learning!

> The Icelandic word for sheep “fé” is the same word for money. (bandit: “give me all your money!” victim: “… you want my sheep?” Oh the implications)

> Iceland has 251,000 Lutherans… and four ‘Moon Followers’

> Björk means Birch. Like the tree.

> The stunning landscape is in constant creation - every two years there’s a major eruption, and every 10 years a new mountain or island is formed.

> Iceland has just three people per square kilometre.

> There are no tall buildings because they have earthquakes almost every day. Plus, ya know, there’s plenty of land to go around.

> The hot water used for showers etc smells sulfury (and rotten!) because it’s been naturally heated by a volcano! I’m down with that.

That night when we got back to Reykjavik I got picked up for the Northern Lights tour. This is the best way to try and see the Northern Lights because the bus drivers are in touch with the weather dudes as they drive you out of the city chasing the clear weather. Plus with your ticket you can keep going back until you see them. For those of you who don’t know what the Northern Lights are, shame on you here is a quick run down in one sentence…

The sun has these solar flares that send electrically charged sun-spunk hurtling towards the earth, being drawn to our magnetic poles (that’s why you can only see them in the north/south), and when they hit our atmosphere they burn up producing the ethereal display we call Aurora Borealis:

this is what they CAN look like if you live in the arctic and have a super camera and the patience of a saint. use the google to see how pretty they are!

Here’s what I saw (except way cooler - digital cameras DO NOT pick them up well.)

They’re mostly green (sun spunk colliding with oxygen) but sometimes red (colliding with hydrogen) and pink and purple too. The dangerous particles causing the northern lights left the sun 2 days ago and when the lights happen in the north, they’re happening at the same time in the south (Aurora Australis) too!

The photos are a bit blurry, because life is blurry. I was dumbstruck that I actually managed to catch them - it was the strangest most beautifully bizarre thing I’ve ever seen and will ever see in my life. While everything else in the sky seems to move so slowly, the lights danced and snaked across the sky, constantly changing formation for a good half an hour! Happy happy happy. [the only down side were the Americans on my bus asking STUPID questions and singing STUPID songs that contain lyrics about lights. I almost high-fived them in the face]

Anyway, back in Reykjavik I spent half the time couch surfing and the other half in the coolest hostel on the planet. Kex hostel is an old biscuit factory (kex=biscuit) and has the most incredible eclectic decor that perfectly exemplified the Icelandic personality. There were birdcages hanging from the ceiling and the chef at the restaurant/bar was behind chicken wire in the kitchen. I know! 5 stars from me. See more pictures HERE.

bingo slips as wallpaper!

my favourite - a sign in the kitchen

Meanwhile, I was told several times that Mt Katla (a volcano I hiked on last time) is not only overdue to erupt but has recently been showing signs of activity. Bring it on! I was secretly hoping for it to go off while I was there to see some ash-farting but no such luck.

I was lucky enough to meet up with a few talented Icelandic designers while I was there to find out the happs in the Icelandic design scene (and where I could potentially fit in). They were SO nice and had names I can’t pronounce. I went along to a weekly meeting with Ingibjorg Bjarnadottir where her and some other designers chat about their work and what’s going on. I had tea and an awesome chat with Ragnar Freyr, and checked out his studio. And had drinks with Eyþor Eyþorsson, talking nerdy design stuff as he helped me steal my first pint glass (a Viking beer one!) and told me I would fit in well because I look and dress like an Icelandic chick. SO SO GREAT. Must…. move…. to…. Reykjavik…

Also got me some new ink:)

Icelanders are actually the most creative people I’ve ever met - even just around the city the buildings are covered in beautiful and funny art graffiti like this

it says “just look at how the mountains so very mighty be sharp as razors, at the top they span the land + sea, but don’t forget that though majestic spires capped with snow, from each and every grain of sand they grow”

and my personal favourite

I think after being isolated for hundreds of years they (as a people) just exploded with creative force…

Also, their english is better then the Scots - they understand my accent perfectly. And also, I assed over on the ice for the first time ever. And also, I discovered I can’t pee on trains. Which is ALSO how I discovered that my jeans have the zip on the wrong side, like man jeans.

The end!

So now I’m back in (snowless) Edinburgh counting down the two months until I head back to New Zealand for a bit! Just a wee bit though. So much rad stuff has been happening here but this is SUPPOSED to be a travel blog and even though I’m overseas I’m not really travelling so I won’t post about that stuff. Ok, just quick then - got a sweet magazine design job; did halloween properly by carving my first pumpkin, making pumpkin soup and pumpkin pie; enjoyed another winter christmas with pretty lights and mulled wine, mulled beer and mulled everything; marched up a hill with 15000 torch bearers to light a viking ship on fire; rang in the new year with ceilidh dancing, kilts and auld lang syne; and popped down south to see mum and spend a day in Bath (the next coolest city to Edinburgh).

*Teachers, I took out the ‘swearing’ so it’s ok for you to use this blog as a learning tool

The month of August in Edinburgh is a month of crazy. 

that is indeed a purple upsidedown cow. with it’s udders in the air.

Throughout August there are several festivals happening all at once - the arts festival, the international festival, the festival of politics (?), the military tattoo, the international film festival, the book festival, and famously the fringe festival. The city’s population goes from 450,000 to well over a million and the atmosphere is CRAZEH.

WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO BE ANYWHERE ELSE IN AUGUST?!

August was a month of summer, comedy, beer gardens, and 3am bedtimes. The fringe hosts comedians like Jimoin, Andi Osho, and Jack Whitehall (none of which I could afford to see); shows with names like The Ginge The Geordie and The Geek; and the likes of Kevin Bridges and Michael McIntyre used to be regulars there. IDEAL. My favourite part, however, is The Free Fringe - free (hit or miss) comedy shows where you’re obligated to tip at the end. Out of the 17 fringe shows I went to, 14 of them were free ones. And out of those 14, only 3 were shite. Not bad for my first festival! My favourite was the BBC Scotland live radio show hosted by Fred McAuley which was on every weekday morning at 10.30. On his radio show he interviewed festival acts so you got a taste of everything the fringe has on offer. And it was free!

BBC bubble tent!

the BBC radio show with fred mcauley

interviewing ruby wax, jimoin and michael winslow (the dude from police academy with the voices!)

Other awesome comedians I saw were Hannah Gadsby, Tiff Stevenson, and Jeff Leach (who got naked, much to the delight of the toga-clad hen’s party in the front row). I went along to a couple of kiwi comedians too - Nick Rado and James Nokise - who put on a free show “1 kiwi, 1 samoan, 1 hour” where a lot of their material was based on getting to know the audience so it was different everytime. I almost peed myself! Side note to kiwis: they’re currently writing a tv show called “Mangere Vice”. Sounds too good to be true!

the udderbelly - a giant purple upsidedown cow/creative temporary festival venue

SoCo - a derelict space in town where a building got demoed, got turned into a SWEET festival beer garden. my fave.

SoCo

teviot (where ‘someone’ ate a crepe left at the table…)

the underbelly. not to be confused with the udderbelly

The pinnacle of the festival, though, is the fireworks. At the end of the festival they put on a 45minute fireworks display, from Edinburgh Castle, to music played by a live orchestra. EPIC. The best place we found was at Inverleith park where you have a view of the castle but they also put on a big screen and sound system so you can experience the music too! OH. MY. WORD. As a fireworks FIEND this topped off my month, it was incredible! The rain even held off, go Edinburgh!

boom pow! fireworks!

August was the best month I’ve had over here since I left New Zealand and I’d totally recommend spending one of your Augusts in Edinburgh at some stage. There’s ALWAYS something to see/do/experience and if you’re lucky, you might even get a bit of summer.

Oh Edinburgh, you so crazeh.

Iceland is the best thing to happen to planet earth… since Jesus. There are 320,000 people, 40 active volcanoes, zero McDonalds, and 45 ways to say ‘green’ but no word for ‘please’.

The capital city Reykjavik (“rake-a-vick”) has everything a capital city should do; theatres, cinemas, museums, concerts; but with A LOT less people. It feels calmer and safer and everything just works. Iceland was actually just the most incredible place I’ve ever seen and I have so much to tell you I’m gonna burst! Lets start with the language:

Learning Icelandic is like getting a tattoo on your ass - time consuming, painful and you rarely get a chance to show it off. It’s supposed to be the hardest language you can learn so it’s a good thing everyone speaks english too, but speaking a little Icelandic will impress their socks off (just don’t expect anyone to buy you a drink for it). There are 45 ways to say ‘green’ before cases, genders and conjugation even comes into it, but it has no word for ‘please’. It does, however, have 14 vowels.

hi/hello = hæ “hi”/halló “ha-law”

thank you = takk “tuck” (just like norwegian, danish and swedish)

If you want a beer, because there’s no word for ‘please’, just say “I want beer”/”ég vil bjór” (say bjor the same way you’ve been incorrectly saying bjork all this time and drop the ‘k’)

goodbye = bless bless

Where’s the train station? = there isn’t one.

How much does this cost? = forget it, you don’t want to know.

welcome to reykjavik airport

I set off on Iceland Express with 2 other kiwis (Sarah and Olivia) and a ‘volcanic ash cover’ addition to my travel insurance, on route to Reykjavik. If you had blindfolded me until I stepped foot off the plane and told me we had landed on another planet, I could’ve believed you (if one was blonder). The trip from the airport into town takes you through stark lavafields with no trees in sight - I could’ve been on mars for all I knew. Awesome, awesome start. We spent our first day exploring Reykjavik in a midsummer 11ºC. A friend told me about a sweet music shop called 12 Tonar where you can listen to Icelandic music and drink coffee, so we thought it was a good place to start to get us some Icelandic music for the road trip ahead. I had heard you can see Reykjavik in 20mins… which was about right, but we spent the afternoon exploring and met up with the rest of our crew (Scott and Melissa - Aussies) for dinner and to plan our road trip. I love trying the local food when I travel but delicacies in Iceland include whale burger, boiled sheep head and rotten shark. hmmm. I was curious to try whale but - no joke - I had just met a dude dressed as a whale ON THE WAY TO DINNER saying “meet us don’t eat us”… so I tried some of Scott’s whale steak instead. Thats ok right? Its super dark in colour and tastes like fishy lamb, and because the animal is so big you can see stringy nerves in the meat. BUT it goes down well with their local beer Viking.

oh reykjavik, stop it

[FYI. A sign outside a restaurant said “breastfeeding welcome - we love babies AND boobs!”]

Early the next morning we set off for the roadie in a small Subaru packed so tight with bags and antipodeans that the boot cover now sat on the dash. Icelanders love nothing more than to scare tourists with their wild volcanic country. The landscape’s tortured beauty is stark and eerie(the noncreepy kind) and looks almost like New Zealand without trees and more black volcanic spew.

Our first mission was the Golden Circle - a 300km loop just south of Reykjavik hitting Þingvellir national park, Gullfoss waterfall, Geysir and Kerið crater. Oh boy! Þingvellir (“thing-vetlr”) national park is where you can see the north american and eurasian tectonic plates meet in a crumpled canyon of rocky volcanic delight. It’s pretty rad…

Gullfoss (meaning “golden waterfall”. Anything foss-y means waterfall) is the biggest waterfall in Europe. It’s behemoth, noisy, wet and left me in awe. But to be fair, pretty much everything about Iceland left me in awe…

Next was the geysers. 80-100º water and steam shooting up into the air! The word ‘geyser’ is Icelandic (geysir) and is actually named after one geyser in particular. ”Geysir”, the original, only goes off three times a day now after some (knobhead) german tourists threw stones in it to make it go. But Strokkur goes off every 6-8 minutes…

go strokkur go!

geysir - the original geyser that gives its name to all other geothermic pools of awesome that shoot boiling water and steam into the air!

Geysir is also home to the coolest statue. in the world.

Icelandic horses have been bred in isolation for 1000 years and they can’t return once they leave. They’ve developed unique gait that allows them to crouch so they can walk over lava fields. In Iceland they breed horses like we do cows, because the vegetation can’t g- ok, ok, they actually eat them. Horse meat is surprisingly low in fat and high in protein, giving every carb-counting member of PETA a serious moment of pause. 

A slight detour out of the golden circle meant we could see Kerið - a giant crater lake where once a year they hold a concert with a floating stage. OH ICELAND.

That evening we made our way down to Hella, to our cabin accommodation by a river and an overactive volcano. It’s fair to say I was dying for something to erupt while I was there. The next morning was another early start for our glacier hike. We headed further south via another stunning waterfall (and a delicious bakery) to Mýrdalsjökull glacier - home of Mt Katla. It’s between Eyjafjallajökull - the volcano that delayed my trip over here a year ago - and the MASSIVE Vatnajökull. We had a guide and were given crampons and an icepick (more just for assing over) and set off for a few hours. Our guide Hrönn was a stunning icelandic chick who studied in Dunedin the same time as me! She told us all about glaciers, Iceland and that if the overdue Mt Katla beneath us were to start erupting she would get a radio call and we would have to boost. BRING IT. The glacier was hundreds of metres deep, hundreds of years old and the wee streams of water running through it was the nicest water you’ll ever drink. The ice was still coated in black ash from the Eyjafjallajökull eruption and the river coming out of it smelt like rotten eggs because the water was coming straight from the volcano. Too cool! TOO COOL.

We had just missed the midnight sun by a couple of weeks, but there was still an excessive amount of daylight - getting dark about midnight and getting light again three hours later. But after our hike we wanted to pack as much in the day as we could before heading back north so we boosted down to the MASSIVE Vatnajökull to the glacier lagoon to see… wait for it… ICEBERGS!!! (or submarines if you’re Olivia)

“I see icebergs and jandels in the same picture!! good kiwi!” 

So so beautiful. It was so quiet and still and hidden. Not sure how icebergs stay icebergs at 11ºC but I’m pretty stoked they do. The thing about the Icelandic landscape is that because there isn’t a lot of trees and you can see far into the distance, it makes the sky look far more vast and majestic than usual. It was a long drive back to Reykjavik but a stunning one through lavafields with various waterfall and puffin-spotting stops along the way…

We had one last night in Reykjavik but were pretty shattered so we decided to just go out for one drink and see some local music… which then turned into a great night out dancing with some cool swiss dudes who joined us. It was so bizarre coming out at 3am to almost broad daylight! The streets at that time were busier than during the day (except everyone was sloshed).

In Iceland, the way your last name works is a sweet viking quirk. Your last name is your father’s first name followed by “son” if you’re a dude, or “dóttir” if you’re a chick (meaning, obviously, son/daughter). For example, Johann has a son called Erik. Erik’s name will be Erik Johannsson (Erik, Johann’s son). Johann’s daughter Hrönn will be Hrönn Johannsdóttir. Then Erik has a son called Olaf (not completely sure if Olaf is even Icelandic, but go with me here), so Olaf’s name is Olaf Eriksson. COOL RIGHT?! Love it.

Our day of departure was the best way to end our trip - the Blue Lagoon.

The Blue Lagoon is an amazing geothermal hot spring (that sits on both tectonic plates!) with 35-40ºC milky blue water, and a great stop on the way to the airport. The lagoon holds about 6 million litres of geothermal water that comes from 2000m beneath the ground. It’s naturally heated, naturally renewed every 40 hours, AND common bacteria can’t survive in it so it’s super clean(ish)! Some even say it has healing powers. So we had a good ol’ soak for a few hours to relax and digest everything we had seen and experienced over the last 4 days (or if you’re me, scheming up ways of returning to live) before heading back to the airport.

I definitely recommend the Blue Lagoon at the end of your trip - there’s a bus service that picks you up in Reykjavik, takes you to the lagoon (and looks after your luggage!) then takes you to the airport. Like I said, Icelanders just do everything so well - especially within the Blue Lagoon centre.

My trip home was a bit of a mission, with a delayed flight resulting in me missing my night bus back to edinburgh, the tubes closing for the night resulting in an expensive taxi fare, and a rip off train ticket the next day resulting in a fight to claim it on my travel insurance. Sigh.

Iceland was the most INCREDIBLE place I’ve ever seen and I love it (dare I say) more than New Zealand. The volcanic landscape is beautifully eerie, the language is crazy and the people equally so - they’re quirky, calm and relaxed and not to mention beautiful HOT! I’ve never seen a nation of more stunningly ravishing people in all my life (they also wear A LOT of these jumpers. It’s like a thing). I might as well have been on another planet. I’m stoked we hired a car and did a roadtrip instead of taking a tourbus and can’t wait to go back and head north instead and maybe travel the whole ring road around the island! If you’re ever in the northern hemisphere, you MUST pay Iceland a visit, it’ll blow your mind - I promise:)

There are heaps more photos on my facebook (which are only half of what I actually took) so you definitely should check them out to see this place.

Until next time, Niceland, until next time.

Bless bless.

Last week I was introduced to something mondo-AWESOME about Scotland: the ceilidh. 

A ceilidh (phonetics schmonetics, it’s “kay-lee”) is traditional scottish folk dancing. It reminds me very much of my primary school days of ‘normal’ folk dancing actually, with the heel-toes, the linking of arms with boys and lots of twirling. Add in some kilts, dashing white sergeants, the stripping of willows and some gay dude called Gordon and you got yourself a ceilidh! 

Last week Zoe discovered the Scotch Hop, which is a ceilidh every wednesday for five weeks over summer held in Linlithgow Palace. A palace! Hands down, the coolest setting for a ceilidh in the history of everything ever. Linlithgow Palace is actually just ruins of a palace, but what’s left is MASSIVE and amazing to explore, and set right on the edge of a stunning loch. I can also confirm that ceilidh dancing is in fact possible to do in jandels/flipflops. It was THE most scottish night I’ve had in my life - dancing with guys in kilts, in the ruins of a scottish palace, on the edge of a stunning loch, overlooking scottish hills, followed by tea and shortbread with scots whose accents I can barely understand. TOO ideal.

And you know you’ve danced a good ceilidh when your foot ends up in strapping tape.

2 kiwis, 1 romanian, and 1 scot ceilidhing it up in linlithgow

The following saturday, I was honoured to attend the wedding of two of the coolest people in my life over here - my first Scottish wedding! So many kilts. LOVE! (do yourself a favour and watch this). It was held in a beautiful stately home called Solsgirth House in Kinross (by a town called ‘Dollar’ ha!), and the ceremony was slightly different than in NZ, with Elysia, the STUNNING bride, walking in first, followed by her bridesmaids. Then after a few photos outside, straight into lunch followed by an evening reception. And at the reception, ofcourse, was a ceilidh! Bring. It. On. What I love about this is that you don’t need any sort of dancing talent to participate, you just need to remember the steps you all run through at the start. The Military Twostep (or ‘The Naughty Twostep’ as Zoe misheard) is my favourite because it’s simple and involves twirling. The Gay Gordon also involves twirling, so much so that it’s nearly impossible after 2 beers. But the bloody Dashing White Sergeant is impossible for me NOT to screw up and I’ve never before been so baffled by a dance.

solsgirth house

me and hayley

possibly the cutest photo ever.

Scotland’s doing a damn fine job of making it hard for me to ever leave.

The Hungarian capital of Budapest was a bit of a random choice for a Kdog and Jdog reunion, but boy did Fungary deliver! My old flatmate from Dunedin days, Karina, has been living in Israel for the past 7 months, and because she has no work visa, she has to leave and re-enter every three months. So we decided it was time for a cheeky wee rendezvous and after hearing only good things about Budapest it was the easiest and cheapest option for the both of us.

budapeshhhhht

FACT. So Budapest was originally two cities - Buda and Pest - separated by the mighty Danube river, right, then in 1873 they became one super awesome city, today with 1.7M Budapesters (Budapestians? Budapests?). The Buda part of the city is hilly and green and pretty sleepy, while Pest is the newer more modern part, although the buildings are still old and beautiful with the city’s history clearly in the architecture - communism, hungarian art nouveau and the jewish quarter of the city. The Danube is pretty mega too, as far as rivers go, flowing through 10 countries including four capital cities - Vienna, Bratislava, Budapest and Belgrade. Budapest also has beautiful mineral water straight from the tap and various fountains around the city. 

Kdog, as she’s so lovingly and automatically referred to as, arrived at the airport an hour before me (beautifully timed if I may say so myself) so we met there and headed into a 40° (40!) Budapest at midday to the hostel to drop our bags and head out for ice cream. We went to the beautiful island in the middle of the Danube and spent the afternoon catching up on the last 19 months of each others lives. She told me all about her life in Israel and taught me some Hebrew.

And I found out she thought we were in Germany. LOVE HER.

the parliament on the left was modelled off westminister and is the 5th largest parliament building in the world!

We eventually headed back to the hostel for dinner that they put on each night for 500ft. The Forint (ft), or ‘freckles/frackles’ as Kdog calls them, is a bit of a mission to convert in one’s head. 100ft=£0.32 so every time I was spending my freckles I was moving the decimal point two places to the left then dividing by three. Argh. So 500ft for dinner is pretty good (if my ‘calculations’ are correct) and we got to hang out with our fellow hostellers, hearing their drunken tales of drunken drinking drunks who spewed on other drunks who were drinking. Super. The first hostel I’ve stayed at, though, where I didn’t meet another Kiwi.

The rubix cube, biro pen, goulash, paprika, Harry Houdini and helicopters are all proudly brought to you by Hungary.

For our first full day in Budapest we headed to the big City Park to see stuff! You enter the park through Hősök tere, or Heroes Square, a big open square with massive statues of various ‘heroes’ from Hungary’s past, and archangel Gabriel in the middle holding the crown of St Istvan(Steven), the first King of Hungary. The square is flanked by the Museum of Fine Arts to the left, and the Palace of Art to the right of the square. It’s really quite amazing, you’re left feeling dwarfed and in awe of the manly, muscley (concrete) warriors riding their horses into battle. “My future husband” says Kdog.

The sun was heating up quick which called for a Heineken in the shade before setting off again to see Vajdahunyad castle - the ‘cardboard castle’. Well, it used to be made of cardboard and wood until it became so popular they built it for real in 1896 but in different architectural styles - roman, renaissance, gothic and baroque - so it looks like someone’s taken parts from totally different castles and stuck them all together to make a new one. Odd. City Park is also home to the baths - the natural hot springs Budapest is known for, producing 831L of 74° water/minute. Not only was it out of our budget, but did I mention how hot it was outside?! The last thing we felt like was taking a dip in water HOTTER than 40°. Next time, Budapest, next time.

On the way back into town we popped into the House of Terror - the former nazi headquarters in Andrassy ave.

This was a pretty sobering experience, but still (morbidly) interesting for someone who knew bugger-all about Hungary’s history. The nazis set up their HQ here at 60 Andrassy ave, the nicest street in Pest. In the basement the prison cells were still intact, where people were once tortured and executed. It was bizarre and frightening to walk where they walked, through rooms that were once their offices, and stand in cells down below where people were once killed. So sad.

A couple of hours later we continued to stroll through the city with a popsicle in hand (I’ve had more popsicles in Budapest than probably my entire childhood. It was THAT hot) and stubbled across a massive Jewish synagogue where Kdog translated the Hebrew above the door for me! Neat party trick. We headed back to the hostel to chill out in our dorm room that smelled like feet but had airconditioning, and watch a movie before dinner. Every night the hostel goes out together for a drink (or 10) at various hot spots around the city and we decided to go along. We hit Grand dio, a beautiful garden bar at another hostel where they were doing a Jaeger train with 250 glasses, got to know a gorgeous Argentinian dude from our hostel and try a Hungarian beer pronounced “ho garden”.

hello in hungarian is pronounced “see ya”. hmmm tricky. and to order 10 beers, you just say “t-shirt”. nice.

Like Estonian and Finnish, Hungarian is derived from Asian languages. You can kinda tell too, sounds asiany

The next day we decided to do a walking tour to learn more about this beautiful city. Starting in Pest, everything we learnt about Hungarian culture was summed up nicely by our guide: “we Hungarians are in the shit, but we know how to have a good time”. This was after telling us about an opera house that was built with terrible acoustics so they used it as a nightclub instead. We passed by St Istvan’s basilica and strolled down to cross the chain bridge to Buda, and walked up Castle Hill to get a good view of Pest across the river. There’s no castle up there anymore, just a massive palace that only contains a couple of museums. A bit misleading, but there’s only so many castles one can see on her travels anyway.

st istvan’s basilica

me+one fat jolly policeman who loooves his goulash

Time for another popsicle on our way back to Pest for lunch. We stubbled across a hare krishna festival of happy clappy madness then found some incredible Hungarian food - goulash for Kdog and paprika chicken for Jdog. For a fiver each! They’re crazy about their paprika. Good thing it’s YUM! Back to the hostel again to cool off with the nicest cider I’ve ever had, for the low low price of 50p.

hungary hungry

the local street cleaner keeping the people of budapest cool.

under this park is budapest’s biggest nightclub, gödör!

We had dinner at the hostel again, and hung out for the evening with three awesome (and beautiful, like aryan beautiful) Danish dudes with the coolest names ever - Tobias, Nicolae and Rasmus. RAD. Me and Kdog had decided to stay in for our last night because Kdog’s flight was early the next morning, but the Danes invited us out and wouldn’t take no for an answer so they dragged us out for an awesome last night in Budapest. (also in love with Denmark all over again)

The next morning I farewelled my Kdog at the train station and had the rest of the day to peruse the city. I had breakfast with Tobias back at the hostel then strolled the streets, shopped in my favourite store New Yorker that I discovered in Copenhagen, and chilled out in the park for the rest of the afternoon before getting on my train and plane back to Edinburgh - sweaty, smelly and happy. I had heard so many amazing things about Budapest and it didn’t disappoint. It feels big, but small enough to get around on foot at the same time, and I felt really welcome there as a visitor. The contrast between Buda and Pest keeps it interesting and I always felt safe. It was pretty cheap too- our hostel was £5/night. I could easily spend a week there. DO visit!

There are several things I would rather do than sit on a bus for 19 hours (like poking sharp things in my eyes while cutting my ears off) but getting to spend half of that with Fiona made it oh so bearable.

this is fiona. she taught me how to say ‘cute dog’ in german.

Fiona’s my mate from NZ who’s been over visiting Edinburgh for a month. The day before she left to go to London for a gig and to fly out, I decided to go with her… and go see Mumford & Sons in Hyde Park! I found me a cheap ticket on gumtree and booked an £8 bus to London. Good decision.

We ended up dossing at her friend’s flat in Hammersmith [like couchsurfing but you pay £5/night. It’s a London thing] where we shared a tiny flat with 8 people - 3 of them named Scott (that’s not confusing at all) and had a wasted irish dude guy try to climb into our bed/mattress-on-the-lounge-floor. Sarah’s a fellow kiwi and the rest of the flat were Kiwi, Aussie and Irish. Turns out Sarah is also a part of the church life group I was in while I lived in London! SMALL. WORLD.

We decided to hit Hyde Park when the gates opened to get a good spot. And get a good spot we did! Mumford & Sons weren’t even headlining, it was Arcade Fire’s show with supporting acts such as Owen Pallett, Beirut, The Vaccines and Mumford & Sons. Owen was aiight, Beirut was sweet with 9 instruments between 5 people, The Vaccines were dull and they thought they were the shizzle, but Mumford got the place BUZZING!

rockin the amish mullet on the banjo! 

oh hello boys

For the record, Mumford are as country as this chicka gets. But I love their sound and I’m a total sucker for any band containing a double bass. What I love even more is their songwriting. My favourite song Sigh No More is from a shakespeare play, and their new one Below My Feet cries “keep my eyes discerned; my hands to learn”. It’s so refreshing to listen to quality music played on real instruments to lyrics that don’t involve drinking, sex or tonka trunks* but are almost borderline christian. “In these bodies we will live; in these bodies we will die; where you invest your love; you invest your life”. Swoon! Spotted a couple of the guy’s mothers in the wings dancing and taking photos too. This was definitely one of the best gigs I’ve ever been to. London turned the weather on while people snorted coke off their oyster cards[london travel cards] and Julz almost got trampled (I had never been so intolerant of the human race in all my life). Awesome, awesome day.

The next day was (sunny! can you tell I’m sun-deprived?) pretty chilled out. We caught up with a couple of awesome english dudes we met up with after the gig who knew Fi and pretty much headed for the Magners Pasture along Southbank for a cider or three in the sun. From there we got food and relocated… to the park next to it, under the London Eye. Like I said, pretty chilled. We got to watch bendy Swiss kids do gymnastics in the park though! That night I got to catch up with my mate Vivienne (who’s pretty much my favourite thing about London) then back to the flat for pizza and gin where I met this kiwi dude who’s a lighting techie and has just been to Norway with Bob Dylan and off to France with Supertramp. Shot bro.

chilli chocolate cheesecake - the most intense and stressfully delicious dessert ever

sun fun

Sadly the next day was home time for me. I was stoked to get back to the Burgh but NOT stoked about a 9.5 hour bus trip back. Alone. My bum was sore and possibly flat (cue squats) but I saved me £40! And I tell ya what, when I arrived at 1am in St Andrews square, absolutely shattered, with the fresh night air, clear night sky and historic buildings lit up I just fell in love with Edinburgh all over again. The last two months I’ve been back there have been the best two months of my whole trip. It’s just been jam packed with so many awesome mates, awesome travel, and awesome experiences that I haven’t been to bed any earlier than 3am for the last two weeks - when the sun is starting to come up! So. Much. Sundaylight! The sun starts getting up around 3am and it doesn’t get dark until 11pm - trippy! As for work, there’s still bugger-all around but I’ve managed to snag some freelancing gigs which are ideal for my set up right now with the flexibility to travel whenever I want. New Zealand’s own Parachute Band came over to play at my church too which was amazing. “The kiwi invasion” people said. The BEST kind of invasion I said

A couple of weeks ago the Touch Rugby World Cup was held in Edinburgh too and almost opposite my flat! Now I’ve never been a rugby fan of any type of rugby, but because my Kiwi mate Dan was playing for Scotland me and the girlies went along for a day armed with picnics and Pimms to watch. That one day then turned into three because touch, it turns out, is an awesome game and actually makes way more sense than rugby-rugby. We cheered on the Touch Blacks, watched the dudes check out the aussie woman’s team in their hot pants and perused the eyecandy surrounding us…

“you need to put your top back on or I’m gonna have to come over there and lick you” - She-shall-remain-nameless (said to me, regarding the english team stretching topless)

dan = scotland + jandels

It seemed there were kiwis and aussies on every team there (about 120 teams I think?). The Kiwi refs were saying that they pretty much came over to referee a bunch of kiwis and aussies play touch in different coloured shirts. The aussies came out on top, in case you care.

So, flip, it’s been such a jampacked couple of months (jampacked full of LIFE!) and it’s only gonna get better. I’m off to Budapest in a couple of days to see my old kiwi flatmate Kdog, so I shall leave you with this life tip, kindly brought to you by Edinburgh…

*”p-p-p-pump it up and back it up like a tonka truck…”. Yikes. But that’s not all Pitbull lyrically has to offer, oh no. “picture that with a kodak, or better yet, go to times square and take a picture of me with a kodak” WTF?

Just four days in Morocco and I was groped in a crowd, had my knee used to itch a camel’s face, was scrubbed down by naked Moroccan women in a hamam, and learnt to make the best mint tea in the history of everything ever.

morocco is beautiful.

It happened like this… One minute I’m selling my work computer to a Moroccan dude who was all like “Morocco is totally sweet and that”, then (not so coincidently) I found £50 return flights to Marrakech and persuaded Hayley(=legend) into coming with me. So we set off for Marrakech armed with maxi dresses and diahorrea tablets. After having half my liquids confiscated at Edinburgh airport leaving me shampooless and disgruntled, we arrived at twilight and snagged us a spot in the SLOWEST customs queue. We haggled our taxi fare and got dropped off in the medina in what looked like the middle of nowhere, thinking that we haggled too low and the driver was kicking us out at 150dirhams worth, but after wandering through narrow alleys using colourful language, a man came after us saying ‘riad massin?!’ (the name of our hostel)… ‘YES! THANK GOD!’. Riad Massin is the nicest hostel I’ve ever stayed in for so many reasons - and only £10/night! For a building to be classified a ‘riad’ it’s got to be open in the middle (like it’s been apple-cored with a giant square corer) so the windows are on the inside. There’s also some rule about having lots of plants around so it was super nice and breezy and planty and aladdiny. The staff were awesome too - a lovely English chick and a bunch of awesome Moroccans that liked to play tricks on us (like opening the front door of the hostel for us and pretending it was their house like we were mistaken. Cheeky cheeky Moroccans). It was beautifully decorated and had a sweet roof terrace for sunbathing and chilling out.

riad-alicious

When we arrived we met a couple of dudes from Mexico and Norway that were heading into town for dinner and invited us to join them because we were a little worried about being snatched in a crowd… and didn’t know where to go. Within minutes of us arriving in the main square, I turn around to see a freakin monkey sitting on Hayley’s head. ON HER HEAD. I was almost rolling on the ground laughing (like ROFL but for real) and I wanted to take a picture but 1. I was far too hysterical for motor skills, and 2. I would’ve had to pay the monkey man. Awesome awesome start to the trip. Hayley may beg to differ. The square Djemaa el Fna (pronounced jamaa lafna) was packed with food stalls so after having a menu shoved in our hands we had lamb, veges and couscous for dinner for around £3 each while I practiced my Norwegian on Andreas. The football was on that night too - Morocco vs Algeria so everytime Morocco scored a goal the whole city erupted in cheering and dancing and after their win we would see guys hanging out the car windows waving flags and tooting for the next two days. New Zealand doesn’t get that excited about anything. Ever.

just outside our hostel. nice one marrakech

Morocco is the most beautifully bizarre place I’ve been to yet. It was so refreshing to experience a not-so-western culture for a change. It’s also great for one’s self-esteem, if one is a white chick with blonde hair, but it wasn’t long before we started to feel more like pieces of meat - “hello beautiful”, “gazelle gazelle”, “nice ass!”, “nice oranges”. We were told ‘gazelle’ means ‘beautiful woman’ because in arabic literature it’s a symbol associated with female beauty. Which is kind of cool, ya know, if you’re into being compared with a swift, boney, desert-dwelling eudorcas thomsoni. But the best one though (get ready for this wee beauty) was “hi fish and chips!”. Double-u tee eff mate!? Apparently it means ‘beautiful woman’ too but I’m failing to see the resemblance. “Nice oranges” I get (thanks!) but being compared to greasy fast food ain’t gonna make me jump on the back of your camel with you and ride off into the sunset. In large crowds the guys liked to cop-a-feel (urrrgh) but they wouldn’t dare try anything in the public eye because it can get them 1-5 years in jail. In the main square there are 200 non-uniformed cops to keep the tourists safe - oh Marrakech, swoon! We learnt too that there are different rules for Moroccans and tourists. If a Moroccan couple want to stay in a hotel room they have to show their marriage certificate. And it’s obvious that in the souks/markets there are Moroccan prices and there are tourist prices.

For our first day we did a day tour to Ourika Valley and the Atlas mountains. It was a little rainy but super misty and picturesque. The first stop was at a traditional Berber house. The Berber people are the natives in northern Africa with 3 dialects of the Berber language. They taught us how to make the most incredible mint tea EVER and served us homemade bread (as in, they grounded the wheat too) and served it with homemade honey, homemade olive oil and homemade butter from the cows living in the next room. A wee Berber boy called Achmed kept staring at me as the only blonde in our group. Cute! After morning tea we got on our way to begin a 45 minute hike to a stunning waterfall in the mountains. An hour and a half all up of clambering over rocks and river crossings ended up being more fun than anything else, and we had a ton of nice Moroccan boys to willingly give us a hand through the tricky parts. It was BEAUTIFUL. We got back to the van and carried on to be served an incredible Moroccan lunch before my favourite part - the camel ride.

My camel ended up using my kneecap as a means of scratching it’s itchy face. It was pretty neat. They’re so docile and calm with a face only a mother could love. I’m pretty sure I WANT ONE. We returned to Marrakech and headed out of the medina to find us some beer to cool off in the 33 degree heat. Alcohol is forbidden in the medina (old town) so we found a supermarket on the other side of the wall in the new town and snuck some moroccan beer into the hostel for a relaxing evening on the roof terrace.

The next day we had planned to head to the coast to Essaouira for beach and sunshine and beach and sunshine but it was forecast to rain so we had a full day in Marrakech instead to roam the souks… ofcourse the sun came out but good decision all round. It was at this point I was pretty pleased I had no room in my luggage or money to my name because the souks were incredible! You could buy anything from clothes to spices to nuts to turtles. It was full of the most amazing colours and smells and beautiful lanterns (that I WILL return to buy one day). The stall owners were incredibly pushy and stressful to deal with (“free for you!” dude, nothings free, “… almost free for you!”) but Hayley and I got exploring and got our haggling on… well Hayley did, I was too much of a pushover.

 Djemaa el Fna

We went back to the souks the next day too with our roommate Melissa from New York who got a henna done on her hand. While walking through the market a guy called out “how many camels?!” but we were so over the whole male species by this point that we just ignored him until he mentioned Melissa’s henna. We turned around and had a chat with him and found out that Melissa having that henna on just one hand meant she was available for marriage, whereas that henna on both hands would mean she was married. The guy, Joe, went on to tell us that we would be worth about 2-5 camels each (as a dowry for marriage, not like ‘hey buy me!’). A camel is worth about £2000. Bargain! Joe invited us into his stall for some mint tea and told us all about Moroccan culture and taught us how to wrap our heads with a scarf while giving us moroccan names. Then he showed us around the souks and haggled for us. He was so genuine and such a sweet dude!

joe making us mint tea

hayley, melissa and ‘hadeesha couscous’

H:”you’re not allowed in the mosque if you’re not muslim” J:”how will they know I’m not muslim?” H:”they’ll see life in your eyes”

After some much needed vitamin D on the roof terrace, our last night in Marrakech was spent with Morrocan beer and chillin in an aladdiny tent on the roof smoking sheesha. Ideal.

I don’t have any photos of our last day, and for good reason. We had been told that after going to a hamam your skin will feel as smooth as a baby’s bum, and we were keen to experience a bit of Moroccan woman life so the two Moroccan women from our hostel took us with them to the local hamam (bath house) for their weekly wash.

I did not see this coming when I booked the flights.

So Hayley, Melissa and I (keep in mind we’ve only known Melissa for a couple of days) went to the bath house and were told to strip down to our bikini bottoms. “You shy?” HELL YES. Next thing we know we’re sitting in a steam room getting buckets of hot water poured over our heads while the women (also naked) mixed up henna, black soap and an orange, and rubbed it all over us. We lay down on the steam room floor for 5-10mins after this then one by one we were taken into the next room for the scrub. Now, I had a wee bit of sunburn from the day before and I can tell ya - I don’t have it now. THEY SCRUBBED OFF MY SUNBURN. They scrubbed so thoroughly that you can actually see all the dead skin coming off your body. It was pretty painful and I was so close to tears that I started giggling. Ofcourse. This was followed by a rinse and another scrub, but with soap, then again with a gritty mud that got left on for another 10 minutes in the steam room and rinse. An hour later we were done and had never felt so clean in our entire lives. My skin has never felt so soft and looked so healthy - LOVE IT! The most amazing thing though was how free the women seemed in the bath house. Outside they’re extremely conservative and reserved and covered up but in the (woman’s only) bath house they get naked and are chatting and joking away. It’s such a contrast from us where we dress comparatively slutty outside but reluctant to get naked in front of people. It was an amazing experience and I’d do it again in a heartbeat - minus the sunburn. I get some bizarre reactions when I tell people this story but my skin is so freakin soft I couldn’t care less. It was the best way to end our stay in Marrakech.

marrakech airport

bye morocco!

This gazelle is definitely returning to Morocco. Bring on the Sahara camel tour and excess luggage!

The Channel Islands have taught me the following things… 1. Jersey stinging nettles hurt a gazillion times more than New Zealand nettles (first 8 hrs= a kill-me-now stinging burning sting that BURNS; rest of the day= sensation akin to recent waxing); 2. Scotland has quietly made me unaccustomed to bright(/normal) sunlight. A weekend in Jersey = squinty, watering eyes. It was overcast;  3. Gatwick is the bane of my life.

I’ve just spent a long weekend back over in Jersey with my mum, to visit my aunty, uncle and cuzzies. Jersey is a funny place ay. Not funny “ha ha”, but funny “what the…?”. Jersey is one of the Channel Islands off the coast of France (I don’t need to link to a map, you know how to use the google). Most people there are English, but it’s not a part of the UK. Or Great Britain. It has it’s own government and laws but from the UK you don’t go through customs to get to it. And it has it’s own flag but is not an independent nation. It’s belonged to the French, the British and briefly occupied by the Germans during the war. So what the flip is it?! It’s official title is actually “A Crown Dependency” (you can check out this AWESOME video that explains it all. This may or may not also be a shameless plug for my design blog). Other names for Jersey include “tax haven”, “As in, America?” and “porsche schmorsche”. Jersey is home to some of the wealthiest people in the world, and as many of them as you can cram onto a small island. A set of twins from Jersey actually OWN another of the smaller Channel Islands. These people are own-an-island-rich! (and whom* does one purchase an island from?) In just a couple of days I saw 2 Aston Martins, 1 Lotus, a Lamborghini, some Ferraris and several Jags. Porsches don’t even make the list. BUT Jersey still looks and feels like a quaint english town… on an island… next to France… where everyone is super nice.

mmm… sereney

beach+one cousin

Jersey wouldn’t be kinda-part-of/semi-UK without a castle. We went to check out Elizabeth castle which sits 1km offshore. You can take an amphibian vehicle out there or because it was low tide (a tide of 9m!) we just walked out along the causeway. Neat! Elizabeth castle, built in 1546, is an odd mix of cool old castley structures and ugly indestructible German bunkers. A dude dressed in an 18th century getup with a cockney accent told us all about life there and fired a musket AND a canon! RAD. I was also chased by an angry nesting oystercatcher. Like I would climb over a wall and negotiate a rocky cliff face to get your egg, pal.

the castle waaaay out thurr

view of Jersey from the castle

a seagull nesting in behind a big gun thing.

yay! canon!

st helier’s rock/home

jdog vs angry nesting bird

A neighbouring hunk of rock out there was home to St Helier for 15 years. St Helier was this monk dude that centuries ago lived on that rock… for 15 years. Just a rock. On that rock now is a sweet wee chapel.

The rest of the weekend was spent with the ol’ famdamily. My 6yr old cousin Eloise told me after a game of “guess Juliet’s age” (NOT 87!) that I really should have a boyfriend, followed later by “you need a husband”. Yikes. But this is from the same mouth that said as boys get older they get “non-cute more”, and a bunkbed is very “bunky” to sleep on. Tootie! Who wants a non-cute husband anyway.

a 6000 year old neolithic passage grave. and one cuz

eloise in an orchid field. we found 2 orchids. well, the others found 2 orchids, I was rubbing dock leaves on my stinging burning sting that BURNS.

So 2 flights, 2 tubes, and 9 trains later I’m back in the Burgh and never want to see another train again. I’ve had a lot of people ask me what the happs is over here now and what my plans are so I might as well briefly fill yall in!…

My job finished up in March so I’ve moved back through to Edinburgh (praise the Lord); I celebrated my first winter birthday with a light dusting of snow, a party with awesome awesome people, and news of the fatal earthquake back home; I learnt to ski (and OWNED that beginners slope); I climbed Arthurs Seat; and I joined in the royal madness of the royal wedding with a royal tea party (there was more Pimms than tea let me tell ya) followed by a royal BBQ in Holyrood park, behind Holyrood Palace (aka the Queens holiday crib). I was wearing 5 layers and could see my breath but we still had the BBQ.

Juliet likes this.

Right now I’m just freelancing until something more steady(/bigger/better/awesomer) comes along, and making plans for a possible return to Godzone later this year. Not too sure I could handle another UK/Scottish winter. The snow was cool and Christmas was super Christmasy but I got a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder - a fancy name for the winter blues due to a lack of sunlight. It’s real because I gave it capital letters. Imagine if you could stock up on sunlight in your body during summer and store it away for winter! IMAGINE. 

ALSO, to go with my new bloglook, I got me a new URL for it considering how much my plans got unplanned.

todaywillbeawesome.tumblr.com

Off to Morocco next week. PRAISE THE LORD.

*FINALLY taught myself the correct usage of ‘who’ and ‘whom’. You are welcome.

After four years of studying design, learning to design, developing an obsession with design and actually designing, I’m finally in the right hemisphere to attend the biggest design fair in the world. The Salone Internazionale del Mobile (roughly translated to ‘international furniture trade fair’) is a MASSIVE design exhibition showcasing furniture, interiors, lighting and more! Oh boy oh boy! This year actually marked the 50th anniversary of the show so it was the perfect time to go and cross it off my bucket list. This design fair was just a part of Milan Design Week where there were various other showcases going on around the city. But trust me, this fair alone was PLENTY.

BRING IT ON!

Because it was Milan Design Week, accommodation was crazy expensive. The hostel I stayed in last time I visited Milan had gone from £15/night to £50/night… couch surfing it is! I had a couch lined up with a Spanish chick but it wasn’t until I touched down at Milan airport that she contacted me with her address (it’s safe to say I spent the flight over freaking right out at the prospect of being quite homeless) but two metros and a bus later I finally found her flat at midnight and hit the sack/surprisingly comfortable couch for a big day tomorrow. 

To give you an idea of how big this show is, the exhibition centre, Rho Fiera Milano, is 1km end to end containing about 24 massive pavilions. I rocked up at opening with my Trade Professional pass (sometimes I LOVE being a designer. We have a rocky relationship but this week, I LOVED it) and joined the THOUSANDS of beautifully dressed and well sunned Italians in their six inch heels to start exploring. I explored, not the Italians, they don’t explore they peruse.

I thought I died and went to heaven. A beautiful, aesthetically pleasing heaven. The exhibition installations alone were worth seeing, let alone the furniture they’re built to display. It was a delightful visual design feast and I was like a kid in a candy store… where nothing was for sale.

travelators. it’s THAT long

check out all the old wooden chairs!

Alessi had their own building to show off their new range - beautiful and quirky as always. And Kartell, who distribute the likes of Philippe ’wears all white when he travels’ Starck, made a visually loud scene. As a lighting design junkie, Euroluce (the lighting design pavilion) took up a good chunk of my time and was my favourite part of the main fair to explore. I spent a good eight hours roaming Rho Fiera that day, and reckon I walked at least 5km around the whole place. I was SHATTERED but happy*.

I dragged my feet back to Laura’s flat where her and her two spanish flatmates were cooking up a spanish feast for dinner and had a power nap before the evenings festivities. Laura invited over her three Chilean mates - Diego, Julio and Eric, and I had another two couch surfers join me that night: A french dude called Johann, and an american chick called Julia who says things like “OMG, that totally blows”, “I was an Nsync girl” and tried all evening to read Johann with her gaydar while hitting on Eric. When I told the Chilean guys I was from New Zealand, there was a long pause before Eric cried out “ah! Kiwi!” Nice. I also thought it was a little neat to have a Julia, Julio and Juliet in the same room. We had such a fun night - great spanish food, GREAT drink and managed to all communicate in a kind of Spanglish until the early hours. Awesome. [note to self: learn more spanish. Visit Chile]

Julia, Laura, Johan, Moi, Eric, Julio, Judith, Maria. Diego had one too many vodka+ananas at this stage to take a steady photo

After a (not so accidental) sleep in, I grabbed a left over spanish-savoury-dough-cake-thing (scrum!) and shot back to Rho Fiera for Sunday - the last day of Milan Design Week. I saved the ‘Salone Satellite’ section of the design fair for this day because my ticket was a one entrance only pass but because I was told that Salone Satellite was free, I saved it for later. Turns out it’s only free WITH A PAID TICKET. However with my (apparently charming) broken Italian I tried to explain what I was told and the nice man put a finger to his lips with a smile on his face and snuck me through quietly. Oh Italy.

this quote on the wall sums up Salone Satellite perfectly

This section of the design fair was the best I reckon. It contained smaller booths of younger designers starting out and eager to show the world their designs along with some design schools too. I found some of my favourite designs in this section. It was here that I met one of two kiwi designers in the whole show - Designtree, from Wellington. I had an awesome chat with them (was told that Marcel Wanders came by and talked to them - stoked!) and came away really encouraged to come back as an exhibitor next year if I can get some funding and possibly collaborate with someone. When I first arrived in Milan I ran into a group of Aussies (slightly sloshed) at the metro station who were exhibiting with their design school and told me to come find them, so I went and saw them for a chat too. Salone Satellite was so fresh and inspiring and potentially an exhibition spot for me in the next couple of years if I get my ass into gear…

took these photo from…

… here! future spotting!

LOVED this ceramic ‘megaphone’ speaker system by en&is. creates brilliant sound and is possibly the coolest speaker for an ipod I’ve ever seen

this was cool/weird: these 13 lamps were moving around using the energy of the internet, responding to data traffic and communicating via their own social network

Designtree told me about Tortona - another cool part of Milan Design Week that was well worth visiting - so after lunch in the sun I headed off to Tortona. Via Tortona is a street (called… Via Tortona) where the shops move out for a week and designers move in to the shop spaces and exhibit their work. It was down here that I found David Trubridge (probably the most well known NZ furniture designer). I had a swell chat with David (first name basis and that) and (an even better chat with) his distributor… but it was clear they were pretty shattered after manning their space for a whole week for the last 10 years. This year he had designed ‘Dreamspace’ which rather than being a thing to produce and purchase was more to attract people’s attention before drawing it to his lights. He said it fits in his suitcase. He also has one in his backyard.

Trubridge’s dreamspace

I ended the day with some food in the Piazza Duomo where I was told I was beautiful and asked if I was married. Argh. When I travelled around Italy for a month last year that got freakin annoying and gross so Jdog got her angry on and scared him off. Laura could only host me for two nights and because my flight was the next morning I just made my way to the airport and crashed there for the night (hi I’m Juliet, and I’m a cheapskate). The flight back was via Oslo (which was 20 degrees!) and ended in the 2nd most frightening landing I’ve ever experienced in my life. These two small boys were loving it and burst out in adorable laughter which made everyone around them start laughing too. Golden! I was too busy stuffing my heart back into my chest.

I had unofficially given up on product design to focus on a career in graphic design where there’s more jobs (and less anxiety), but after this design fair I’m back in both boats and missing designing beautiful, somewhat useless things. I know I’m called to be creative, I just got to figure out what to do with it.

There is no doubt that creativity is the most important human resource of all. Without creativity there would be no progress and we would forever be repeating the same pattern - Edward de Bono

* When I looked for another, more exciting, word for ‘happy’ the expression ‘as happy as a clam’ came up in the thesaurus. 1. who actually ever says that?! and 2. do clams get happy? how can you tell? I don’t understand.

I clearly suck at being spontaneous. I wanted to go somewhere warm for a few days to get some sun and get away for a bit, and after a week of weighing up my options I finally found some super cheap flights to Malaga, Spain leaving the next day. I spent a good 20mins staring at the ‘book now’ screen, before my final decision:

“If my shorts still fit me, I’ll go.”

Double win! (note to self: learn how to make decisions.)

oh hello malaga!

Malaga is a sweet wee place. There isn’t heaps to see and do which makes it a perfect place to visit if you just want to get away and relax for a few days (that’s if you’re like me trying to fit everything in to see as much as possible). It’s claim to fame is that it’s the birthplace of Pablo Picasso, even though the dude hardly returned there during his lifetime. No one really speaks english there at all and as this was a semi-last minute decision I didn’t bother brushing up on my rusty Spanish. I actually had to stop myself speaking Italian, but I just got away with “hola!” “gracias” and “no! vayase!” (which I actually had to use when a dude asked me in broken english and hand gestures if I wanted to be his “f*** amigo” for money. I wish I wish I WISH I was kidding. Blurrrrgh).

As soon as I found the hostel I dusted off the ol’ bikini and headed straight to the beach because nothing’s open on a Sunday. Actually the only thing open was Maccas - I had the McNifico burger for dinner. And it really was.

this is inbetween the two main roads through the city. nice!

The best thing about Malaga, I think, is the smell. The town is full of orange trees which have the most beautiful fragrant flowers, so the whole town smelt delightful! The orange tree is now my favourite of all the trees. In the world. The two parallel main streets downtown have a beautiful park stretching inbetween them where you can still hear the traffic but can’t see it. I spent a good few hours lying on a park bench there reading/people-watching/siesta-ing/trying to guess the fruit on the trees. IDEAL. The rest of my time there was spent exploring the city. The Spanish Film Festival was on (I think) so there were lots of people out and about and a red carpet stretching through the main shopping street. I went into every bank I could find the get some money changed but the one bank that said they do it, then told me they don’t change ‘Scottish pounds’. WHAT?! So I had €2 for food for the day which I managed to stretch pretty far by eating Nespole - the most INCREDIBLE fruit I discovered in Italy. When it cooled down later in the afternoon I walked(/hiked) up a hill to get a view of the city and sat up there for over a hour…

Malaga also has the coolest airport I’ve ever been to. I didn’t notice it when I arrived because I was just eager to get outside but it’s quite an incredible and beautiful structure. It’s spacious, indoors AND outdoors at the same time, and full of natural light - there was no downlighting in the main terminal spaces! I would pick an overnighter in this airport over Gatwick any day.  

architecture lust. image courtesy of google [due to my tardiness which resulted in me sprinting through the place instead of photographing this architectural feat of beauty]

My shorts still fit. McNifico!

Norwegians are pretty rad. I figured this out before I even left for Norway - that’s how rad they are. Just a few days before departure I met an awesome Norwegian chick at church called Katarina who told me, after meeting me five minutes beforehand, to stay with her family in Oslo instead of staying at a hostel! RAD.

Me, Zoe and Dan*, two fellow kiwis, decided to go check out Norway for a few days when Ryanair offered flights to Oslo for £7 each way! And by £7, I mean £15 after that sneaky sneaky tax.

If you’ve never flown Ryanair before, you miss a spectacularly bizarre announcement on landing…

[cheap triumphant trumpety tune] ”congratulations! You’ve been flying on yet another on time flight…..!”

Like being on time deserves a medal. Or a triumphant trumpety tune.

I hadn’t left the UK for seven months so I was going stir crazy and NEEDED to go somewhere, and to be honest Norway had never really been a place I desired to visit. Before, when I thought ‘Norway’ I thought of vikings and the colour orange (don’t ask, because I don’t have an answer) but you can’t go wrong with £7/£15 flights! So on a Friday night we left a stormy Edinburgh for a beautiful snowy Oslo, and were picked up by Kat’s mum and sister who made us feel right at home with the most incredible chocolate cake they had just made (oh. my.).

We spent two days exploring Oslo and stayed with the family for our time there, and staying with them was the highlight of my time in Oslo. It was amazing getting to know them and learning about life in Norway. Their english was impeccable too (it’s compulsory all the way through school) to the point of having their awesome sense of humour come through, which can sometimes get lost in translation. They would casually ask if we wanted to join them for dinner or do our own thing, then would put on a massive feast of fresh salmon, scallops, homemade wedges and salads for us before we all spent the evening in the lounge chatting and eating Norwegian chocolate until midnight (except Dan and Kristian who battled it out on the table tennis table they have in place of a dining table. Like I said: Rad).

The beautiful Thornes family: Eva, (me), Kristin, Kristian, Kristoffer, Sverre, (Dan) + their two Irish Setters Tanja and Foxy. FACT: Sverre was taught to ski by the Queen of Norway. Nice.

they have heating under their driveway.

Oslo’s a pretty cool city. Pun TOTALLY intended because it. is. true. It never really got above zero degrees and the harbour was frozen over! The people, unlike in the UK, just get on with it and have proper systems in place to deal with the incredible amount of snow they get. They have these super awesome mega snow ploughs that actually suck up and shoot the snow off the roads because there’s too much of it to just push aside. The streets are also super clean and people ski to the trams. It’s pretty expensive though - NZ$4 for a stick of gum?! For our first day we set off to explore Oslo on the T-bane (no, not “T-bain” but “T-bonn-ah”) which is their metro system (designed/made but Siemens) but WAY nicer/newer/moderner(?)/comfortabler(??) than any underground system I’ve been on and makes the Glasgow subway look like it belongs in a third world country. We saw the city centre, palace, parliament and walked around on the icy Opera House roof. The Opera House was designed to look like an iceberg, which suited it’s location on the frozen harbour nicely, and you can walk around on top of it - coolio! Being opposite the train station, some dude was trying to push his baggage trolley up there, but he got stuck because it was too icy so he blocked the path. What could possibly make him think that’s a smart/logical/APPROPRIATE thing to do?! Tourists. Walking around town we got given free samples of norwegian chocolate by a chick wearing a giant milk can, and later ran into another two chocolate-sample-giving people and milked that pretty well. Then to top off our first day out, Dan’s £3/6yr old shoe broke so me and Zoe got our gum-chewing on and stuck it back together to hold him over until we got home. THEN, ofcourse being a male, he came up with a much simpler, logical solution that didn’t involve rapid chewing and super fresh breath. 

The Opera House on a frozen harbour

palace schmalace. the steps outside is where it’s happenin’

busking in Norway

Oslo this year is hosting the world ski jump competition and have built this behemoth ski jump. Now I’ve watched the ski jumping in the Olympics before, thinking those people are insane, but had no idea just how freakin high that jump is, and just how freakin insane I’d have to be to ever jump off that thing. When we turned up to see it, we came across the end of a cross-country skiing race (finishing five hours later!) and got given a goodie bag that each competitor received containing a newspaper, a cookie, and the most incredible loaf of seedy grainy bread (that fed me and Zoe for four days). On the T-bane on the way to see the ski jump, a big bunch of sledders jump aboard all at once with their sleds. We looked at each other kinda stunned then we remembered being told that a couple of stops up on the T-bane people can get off and sled down, then get the train back to the top again. Oslo’s public transport rocks!

I pulled a thigh muscle climbing a gazillion steep steps to get this picture. appreciate it.

view of Oslo from the hill. well, it’s under the mist

We also visited the Nobel Peace Centre where they give out the Nobel Peace Prizes.  But the most bizarre thing about Oslo? Frognersparken. A park with 200 statues of naked people. They weren’t erotic, or even the ‘statue of David’ kind of naked statue, but naked and standing in weird naked poses leading up to a weird giant phallus made up of naked people. I’m not making this up. Here are my top eight:

follow the naked statues and you get to this: a phallus made up of MORE naked people

So so weird! Oh Norway. Besides all the nudity going on around us, we took a gorgeous snowy stroll through Frognersparken (Zoe ran loops around the statues to keep the feeling in her toes) with the locals out pushing prams, walking their dogs (saw a ton of Irish Setters and just as much yellow snow) and - that’s right - skiing.

just out for a ski in the park

Norway has snow for five months of the year. Five! So it’s no wonder their national sport is skiing. The word “ski” is actually Norwegian, and also the name of a town just out of Oslo. The family we stayed with all cross-country ski and go skiing together most weekends. Norwegians are really family-orientated and are always putting that first. And I found Norwegians quite similar to Kiwis in that they’re really laid back, relaxed and super friendly but in a more reserved way than us. But unlike us, they are all super fit, healthy and slim (I would be too if I went skiing as often as they do and ate loads of fish) and I only ever saw a handful of people smoking. Norwegian as a language is really easy to learn too! They have three extra letters in their alphabet, but their word endings don’t change because of that stupid confusing masculine/feminine thing. They pretty much just have replacement words for english ones. Kind of. It’s quite beautiful and odd, and I REALLY WANT TO LEARN IT. 

Lesson one: 

hallo (“hallooo”) = hello

hej (“hi”) = hi 

On the Sunday night, Dan flew back for work on Monday but me and Zoe stayed on for a wee three day adventure to Bergen.

The train trip from Oslo to Bergen is the highest railwayline in Europe reaching 1222 metres above sea level at Finse. I’ve never seen so much snow IN MY LIFE (which isn’t hard being from New Zealand, I know…). The closer we got to Finse we began to only see the tops of fences, and at one point just the roof of a house! It was a good 2-3 metres deep and I had to consciously stop myself from diving out of the train at the stations and into the deep snow stacked up against the station buildings to swim in it like a sea of icing sugar. Cold frozen icing sugar.

dude, where’s my house?

On the train we were sitting opposite a quiet old woman with tired eyes and a straight and kinda sad face. Zoe gave me a sugarsnap pea to snack on which definitely was NOT sweet at all (it tasted like garden) so as I screwed up my face in disgust, this old woman burst out laughing at me! Golden! The laughter was contagious:) We got off at Myrdal where it was snowing heavily (and beautifully!) and got straight onto the Flåm Railway to Flåm. This is a famously scenic trip and kinda touristy but being two of the six people onboard (or ombord even) it was perfect. The landscape was just INCREDIBLE. All these massive waterfalls were totally frozen! I can’t even begin to describe how stunning it was, so here’s some pics instead…

behind us is a MASSIVE gushing waterfall. honestly. check it out in summer here

Woah.

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. At Flåm we got on a boat and travelled down the Aurland Fjord, and the thing with this fjord is that it looks HUGE when you’re in it, but if you see it on a map it’s a teeny fjord off the bigger Sognefjord. The Sognefjord is where the Germans snuck in with their submarines (it’s that deep!) back in the day, and hid under fishing boats so sonar couldn’t detect them. I’m pretty sure that’s true. Anyway, this trip down the fjord is beyond description. I’ve never felt so small in my life, I was 100m away from the foot of 1300m high snowy mountains. DWARFED much! It left me speechless, I was so blown away that I didn’t know how to process what I was even seeing. It was total AWE. 

“The heavens declare the glory of God, The skies proclaim the work of his hands…” Psalm 19

“… He has made it obvious to them: For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see His invisible qualities - His eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God.” Romans 1.20

There were only six of us on the Flåm railway and boat - a young couple from Singapore, a chinese dude four months into a year long trip, and a young girl from Macao. We all hung out and had a good laugh together and the Chinese dude showed us photos he took of the Northern Lights he had just caught while he was up north in a hot tub (note to self: GO NORTH NEXT WINTER). We stepped of the boat at Gudvangen as the sun was going down and caught a bus to Voss, to catch a train to Bergen. It was a long day - 14 hours of travel. But the most glorious 14 hours. Mind = blown.

Turns out the chick from Macao was staying at our hostel in Bergen and ended up being in the same room as us! So we headed there to get a good night’s sleep before exploring Bergen in the morning. Bergen is Norway’s second largest city (I think) and it rains 275 days a year (it also has a Museum of Leprosy). So needless to say I was praying for our one day there to fall under the unrainy 90 days - which it totally did! We got snowed on heavily at one point which I was lovin, but it was otherwise rainfree:) We had a leisurely wander around and took the Fløibanen (cable car) up to get a good view of the city… and make snow angels. At the store at the top Zoe bought an amazing Reindeer skin which she later had to squeeze into her hand luggage (FACT: Norwegians eat Reindeer. Cool! Kinda. Probably just tastes like a cartoony-venison). Then after a good ol’ chat with the shop keeper, we walked out to take some photos and he ran out to give us two free Norway calenders! Oh Norway, being all rad AGAIN. 

you can see the Fløibanen track up top

the sky was clear and blue when we got on the Fløibanen at the bottom, then it was snowing heavily when we got to the top. weird

On our last day, Zoe caught the boat down the west coast to Haugesund (which that trip in reverse, up to Bergen, is where Norway got its name - “the Northern Way”. You’re so welcome) to fly out to London so I got the seven hour train back to Oslo. Five hours on a train I can handle, but seven makes me wonder if my butt will permanently look sat on once I get to the station.

Norway totally surprised me ay (which probably wasn’t hard seeing as my expectations consisted of seeing zero vikings and I had just come from Glasvegas). It BLEW ME AWAY and I can’t wait to go back and break out my Norwegian. I definitely have to kayak the fjords in the summertime, but also want to see the Northern Lights in winter… so I’ll just have to go twice. This wee trip was probably the best of my travel experiences so far - thanks Norway! Check out more photos on my facebook:)

And if I had to pick which was more beautiful - Norway or New Zealand - it would be such a tough call. But that’s if we’re talking landscapes (if we’re talking males - Norway, no question)

God jul til alle og jeg håper legen din fisk er grønn!

* we discovered on the trip that I went to school with Dan’s cousin. Two freakin degrees of separation!

I now live in, what some say is, the most dangerous city in Europe: Glasgow. It also rains about 300 days a year and I can’t understand half the people’s accents. But it’s got a subway. 

 Since I blogged last (nerd alert), I’ve caught my inner monologue speaking with a Scottish accent, and I got a design job. God’s been totally hookin’ a sister up! I told ya He would! I got offered a job as a product design engineer for a dude at my church (to which I replied “ya-ha!”) which meant a move to Glasgow. I’ve just finished designing something for the new World Trade Centre building, now I’m onto a project for the US military. How the flip did I get here?! Jesus is, quite clearly, DA MAN. Got me a sweet flat too. I’m living with an awesome Irish chick from church in Merchant City which is an ‘up-and-coming’ area in Glasgow’s city centre (‘up and coming’ meaning ‘was crap but becoming cooler’. Think K-road in Auckland minus the red-light aspect. One would hope). It’s cosy and homely with a sweet oven for baking, and Sharon’s accent provides endless entertainment.

Shaz: I like the New Zealand movie about the girl and the wheel

Me: the girl and the wheel?

Shaz: no WHEEL! A big fish!

Me: oh you mean WHALE

Shaz: yeah, WHEEL!

Me: Sharon, say “wheel” and “whale”

Shaz: WHEEL… WHEEEEL.

I almost peed myself.

Merchant City - my hood

This winter has been the coldest I’ve ever experienced. And IT IS AWESOME. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in Scotland who doesn’t complain about the snow. Actually I’m not just not complaining, I DIG IT BIG TIME! It started super early, back in November, where it got to knee height in Larbert. Oh boy oh boy it’s cool when it’s just lying around, but when it’s actually snowing, it’s the most beautiful thing! It’s so silent and gentle and makes everything really quiet… not just because people are snowed in (all the better to contain the damn whining) but it must do something atmospherically(?) like smother the soundwaves… or something. Temperatures plummeted to -18˚C, with the daily ‘high’ sometimes being -11˚C. I totally could’ve done with a balaclava to keep my face warm, and so I’m still able to tell when my face does stuff. Ya know, like my nostrils flaring, my eyebrows moving, my nose running down my face… But honestly? There’s nothing like snowflakes gently settling on your eyelashes, melting on your hands, crunching under your feet, and digging Erica’s car out of the snow at 7am in your pyjamas. 

me + erica + snow + larbert

Men in suits tucking their trousers into gumboots are quite the hoot, and chicks rockin them as fashion footwear (the boots), is just bizarre, but cops cruising around in Land Rovers is just COOL. The newspaper headlines have been golden by the way. When traffic came to a standstill on the motorway, “going snowhere” was a winner. And in November when the chaos had just started “It will last until dec 27… then winter will set in, say forecasters” graced the front covers. That only got me excited. I think I’ve adjusted though. When 2˚C feels so warm you start shedding layers, I’m pretty sure you’re doing ok.

I’ve gotta tell ya though, I love a good kiwi summer but Christmas feels far more Christmasy in winter than in the southern hemisphere. I’m not sure how much of that opinion is influenced by hollywood, but the magical combination of snow, extensive darkness, Christmas lights and mulled wine makes this Christmas my best yet. In Edinburgh and Glasgow city centres they put on german markets, rides, ice skating and lights - I never felt so festive! It’s a lot harder to feel festive in the sunshine I think.

oh hello christmas!

time to get my ice skating on!

Being so far away from home, I spent Christmas with Rob and his family in Comrie this year - a picturesque wee town up near Perth. We all took long walks in the snow, sat by the fire, and enjoyed a huge turkey dinner complete with Christmas pudding until the stretchy pants were required. PERFECT. Then I saw in the new year in the Burgh with my Edinburgh peeps… 13 hours behind New Zealand.

view from my bedroom window in comrie. I saw deer, pheasant and grouse:)

a huge semi-frozen waterfall!

The snow has mostly gone now, BOOOOOO. It’s been pretty warm the last couple of weeks (5˚C!) but I’m hoping for more snow before winter’s over, and again I’m probably the only one in Scotland hoping for that. I haven’t left this island for about seven months now, so I’m itching to travel again. This year I think I’ll hit up Israel, Jordan and Iceland - I cannae wait! I shall end this post with my new years resolutions so you can be witnesses and hold me accountable. CHOICE!

1. learn to ski/snowboard (whichever is more Juliet-friendly)

2. visit another three countries

3. spend maybe two saturdays a month getting out of town for country walks, sightseeing, or visit art galleries/museums

4. Learn the art of compartmentalising. And scone making.

New Zealand may have scenery that makes you want to burst into spontaneous applause, but the Scottish Highlands made me wanna dive out of the moving train and start exploring. Back in October I took a trip with The Schmidt to see some of the Highlands. I’m only mentioning it now because 1. I finally have a minute to relax, snuggle up in my warm bed with a hottie (that’s a hot water bottle, not an attractive male) while it snows outside and start on my to-do list; and 2. I also just forgot.

So anyhoo, I’m pretty happy to have met The Schmidt. Amy Schmidt is from Nebraska (or New Braska if you’re Erica) and she is a singer/songwriter/guitar player doing a bit of touring around Europe promoting her album and getting her busking on. She’s also a Melancholic like myself (holla!). Before she left for Germany we decided to take a wee trip up north to see more of Scotland so we got on a train to Inverness. Inverness not only sounds like a beautiful girl’s name but it’s actually pretty stunning for a cute wee town. There’s not much to do there, but just strolling along the river Ness is a beautiful scenic walk, with a couple of small bushy islands where I sat and read my book for a couple of hours. Ideal much! First thing the next day we took a day tour to the Isle of Skye in a minibus containing Americans, Canadians and Australians. The usual. We wanted to be able to get out and have a look around places and not be stuck on a train so this was a good option.The tour took us to the Isle of Skye via Strathcarron, then back to Inverness via Loch Ness I could explain everything we saw but if you’re anything like me I’d rather I shut up and show you pictures…

beautiful inverness

the river ness

‘strome ferry this way… just kidding! there’s actually no ferry.’ those crazy scots…

strathcarron. this is all there is

this photo and the next remind me of manly manly men. this one is an extra hairy man.

eilean donan castle

I can’t wait to head back and explore more of this beautiful country!… once my face thaws out.

Hostels. After being told by my French lesbian roommate ”Don’t worry I’m not coming onto you. You’re blonde, you’re not my type - I like dark haired women”, I’m still not sure whether to be relieved or offended. But since that extremely uncomfortable (on my part) moment, she moved out, a cool kiwi dude moved in and I caught a cold that was making the rounds. Ew.

hostel = home (=oxymoron)

I’ve had heaps of people ask me what the flip I’m up to as I’ve been a little incommunicado about my situation (for complicated reasons) but now that things are finally settling down and I LOVE YOU ALL, I’ll catch you up!

So….. I kinda moved to Edinburgh. That’s a lie. I TOTALLY moved to Edinburgh! I’d been offered a trial as a graphic designer for a magazine which I took with both hands because job hunting in London was soul-destroying and going nowhere. The recession is still pretty bad over here and I’ve heard of a lot of kiwis/aussies who have moved back home because they can’t find work. All the junior design roles required at least three years agency experience, which DOES NOT sound juniory to me. Although nothing was definite because this was only a trial I decided to shift up for a couple of weeks to get out of London anyway. However, that ‘couple of weeks’ is now indefinite because

EDINBURGH. IS. AWESOME.

this is what scotsmen look like. (also, where is he aiming?)

Don’t get me wrong, London is AMAZING at making one feel alone and definitely worth a visit, but it’s also massive and not for everyone. The whole time I was there I never felt like I fitted (fat?) in and never felt like a part of the place. I had a lot ex-pats tell me it takes a good six months to settle into London life, but HELLO I’m not about to waste six months of my life being miserable when I feel at home the moment I set foot in Edinburgh. And I can’t even begin to tell you how brilliant that decision turned out to be, no matter how many colour-coded pro/con lists and algorithms went into it (I wish I was kidding).

Scotland is like England with a twist. Not only is it stunning but the people are actually the coolest people I’ve ever met and no one has made me laugh this much or this hard in a long time. So here is a super condensed version of what has happened…

I made myself at home in a hostel in the heart of the Old Town (on Cockburn street, which as it turns out, is actually pronounced ‘Coburn’ by the Scots. Sure, laugh. But I definitely was not the only one uninformed about this). This was home for the first two weeks while I worked in a cafe (who later fired me for catching the cold I mentioned before) but after rocking up to C7 Church, not only did I meet two fellow product design graduates (holla!) but within just two minutes of talking to me, this chick Erica* was all like “you’re not staying in that hostel, you’re coming to live with me” and I was all like “um… ok” so I’m now staying with the BEAUTIFUL and ever entertaining Errrrica! This means that not only do I get a comfortable double bed in a room of my own, but I get silky bed sheets (=ideal. also = duvet doing a 180 and slipping half off the bed while I sleep). C7 is one church in two cities - Glasgow and Edinburgh - and is under Hillsong. Some of us occasionally head to the Glasgow services and it’s freakin cool - it’s held in this crazy dark (and previously illegal) rave cave by the railway lines. You’re walking up these dark stairs like you’re heading up to a nightclub then BAM! Welcome to church! Freakin sweet. 

erica.

I’ve made the coolest bunch of mates a kiwi gal/lassie/hen** could ask for and feel so at home! Sometimes it takes a little mental processing to understand the accent, especially with the Weegies (Glaswegians), but I’m catchin’ on.

scots + one

The design job fell through before it even began and not much else has come up. My confidence in my skills took a massive hit but to keep me sane and outta trouble I’ve been doing graphic design for church and lovin’ every minute of it. This time has allowed me to think (not as great as it sounds), see more of this beautiful country (even better than it sounds) and invest my time and skills into the church. But God’s gonna hook a sista up with a design job SOON AS so watch this space. He’s BEYOND blessed me and my decision to come up here with His provision, and by surrounding me with such SCHWEET people.

Right now it’s Movember (my computer didn’t recognise this word. “add to dictionary”), is cold enough to snow at times (but won’t) and the sun is setting at 4pm. I also got to witness the All Blacks epic win over Scotland in The Burgh (and oddly now smitten with the whole team).

So much has happened in the last two months so I’ll fill you in bit by bit. Stay tuned for tales of the Highlands, Scottish slang, and much more.

edinburgh is super encouraging

—

*Erica is the multitasking master: No one can curl eyelashes, apply makeup, eat a yoghurt, talk to me AND drive all at the same time like she can. She also sings like an angel and looks Maori. I love her.

**Since my arrival I’ve been referred to as “hen” and “a bonny lassie”. For real. COOLIO!

So I’m in this hostel in Edinburgh, right, (I’ll explain later) and I’m in the 14 bed dorm. At 4am, this dude from Birmingham stumbled into the dorm, totally trolleyed, and went to sleep in the bunk next to mine. At 6am he gets up, stumbles over the other side of the room and starts to piss on this American dude! America got up, grabbed him by the neck and pushed him into the middle of the room and was all like “what the hell you just pissed on me!” but Birmingham didnt know what he was doing (or where he was) so America pushed him out into the corridor and they ‘talked’ for a while then all we heard was fighting and someone getting slammed into the door. Birmingham BIT America on the cheek! Then it all got broken up and he got thrown out of the hostel. The best part was after when we were all like “dude are you ok?” and America - in his stearn accent - said “NO ONE pisses on my bed. That’s my rule.”

Dude I think that’s everyones rule.