dulce vita.

i am sitting at dulce cafe (aha, her spelling is not so bad after all) at the airport. probably for the last time in a long time. one last, quick airport post. don't think i am able to write more than that yet because while i'm wearing waterproof mascara, my contact lenses have been giving me grief and i just don't feel like crying anymore right now. which obviously i would, because…dah, i'm leaving cape town for good. and while everybody has been so so lovely with kind words and messages and perfectly boiled eggs for breakfast, i actually hate goodbyes. i wasn't able to do anything more than to give everybody a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. i am too good of a cryer. and while i am writing this i realise i need to change the topic… so on that note next time you hear from me, i will be sitting on the most wonderful little balcony in bangkok and then i will tell you all about my last week in cape town and how i hated it because it was so bloody perfect and much more.

for now just goodbye, beloved city.

it's complicated.

so here is something that i learned: people are extremely nice to you if you are about to leave the country for good. in my case all these nice people are usually already quite nice to me, so nice, that i am sometimes not sure how i deserve it. but right now the niceness has gotten to a whole new level.

hi, world!

today is my second last day of work and i thought i should check in because tomorrow i will probably be too busy with all the crying and all the champagne drinking. right now i am equally excited and terrified. fact is i really, really like my job and the people that i work with and the house i work in. the house actually smells like my grandmother’s house, which is really odd considering that the houses are on other ends of the world and not in the same climate zone. but my cousin, who once visited me here and who also knows how our grandmother’s house smells like, concurs. i love this smell, it makes me feel home, which i guess is why i always really liked my office. this morning the smell made me a bit teary.

but back to the nice people. people want to see me, take me out, and they send me more giraffe pictures than usual.

this was a pin i got this morning from claire which of course had me squeal in excitement. anybody flying from california to cape town within the next week and can bring me one please?

besides feeling very grateful for all this love and attention, i feel … odd, for a lack of better word. i am still here, my mind is elsewhere, then i get mad at my mind for not being here, then i’m here, the sun is not, i get sad, i get anxious, yesterday i felt like i just wanted to run away from it all…south africa, germany, my decision, i feel ridiculously happy, i have been sleeping badly with horrible dreams though sometimes a good one sneaks in that makes me optimistic again. argh. if my mind was to be described in a relationship status, it would definitely be it’s complicated.

as i will not be having my awesome desk calendar from the weekend onwards i started to make my own for next week. and it scares me not because of the things i have written down, but because of all the things i probably forgot to write down.

 

i guess i should add write goodbye cape town post, but realistically my next post will my typical airport, drinking too many G&Ts before boarding post. i hope you will bear with me, i will make up for it with an overload of thailand beach pictures. as i said i’m complicated right now.

a christmas story. or two. or three.

you know that i am a sucker for christmas. though it usually gets stressful around this time of the year, i love presents and always have ever since i got a barbie that came with her own bottle of fragrance. a bottle with a pink bow on top to close it and a heavenly smell. well, at least for a ten year old.

another year, i remember well, i got a new bed for christmas. it was a bunk bed for one person with a desk attached and enough space underneath to play. my parents had set it all up in the lounge for me and how excited was i when my mother allowed me to sleep downstairs. thirty-something stuffed animals had to be brought down in addition to pillows and blanket and when i was finally happily sitting on my bed it … squeaked. loud enough to concern my father who had built it and no, i couldn't sleep in that bed, something was wrong! how i convinced them, by tantrum or smiles, i don't know, but he and my brother took the entire bed apart and rebuild it in my room the same evening.

 

 

these days it is not so much about presents for myself, but i actually love giving gifts. i think there is nothing more wonderful than finding that perfect gift for someone you love and you can already see what their face will look like when they open it. this year i have already declared to 3 different people that they are getting the bestest gift of all and i mean it.

we had beautiful christmases when i was little. well, of course there were the odd ones out like the year when ariadne, our dalmatian, ate the entire goose. or the year when my dad forgot to buy champagne and then decanted a beautiful 20 year old bottle of red which was corked. there was also the year when my brother and i were left in charge of decorating the tree and decided to make a chic, all black, gucci tree and hung black cassette tapes instead of tinsel on it. let's just say gucci is not a good look for a christmas tree.

but overall our christmases were wonderful. i would watch the last unicorn, we would go to church, and then my parents would ring a bell in the lounge, announcing that the children could come inside for presents. first there would be some singing, then a champagne toast, and then i would be led to my pile first because back then there were no grandkids around yet and as the nesthäkchen i was entitled to go first.

my parents made us never wait and sit through dinner before presents. i'm still grateful for that. it also meant more peace on the dinner table afterwards. our traditional dinner is a bit of a funny one and i actually don't know how it came along but we would always have herring salad and smoked salmon with baguette. eventually foie gras was introduced and in recent years my dad always makes a ragout fin in pastetchen as a starter.

after dinner lazy family that we are, we would change out of our holiday finest and put on our pjs and watch tv. i wish i could tell you that we played board games and told stories and danced around the tree or whatever else other families do, but that would be a lie. we would eat chocolate truffles and watch sissi reruns. it was fabulous.

the morning of the 25^th i would usually be the first up and sneak downstairs. the lounge would be cold with a nice smell of candles hanging in the air. i would snuggle up next to my new toys and watch cartoons and probably eat some more chocolates too. after all anything goes for christmas breakfast.

the same ritual each year… until my parents got divorced. then everything changed. mind you i was a grown-up and i guess it shouldn't have mattered. but you know what? it always matters regardless of your age.

my brother started to celebrate christmas with his own family and my mother, well, turns out she doesn't care all that much about christmas after all. i went back home every year to celebrate with my dad. one of my sisters would join us, sometimes an aunt, usually one of his friends who was also alone. it would be a somewhat odd assortment. and while i know that it is probably a good christmas spirit to bring people together who have nobody else and my dad made it really nice for us, it never felt quite the same again for me.

i started to long. to long for a christmas like kevin, home alone minus the kevin being actually home alone part. a christmas with big chaotic house full of a gazillion people, full of family – laughing, fighting, eating on long tables.

i found this here in cape town. the big chaotic house, the long tables, more kids than one can keep count of or possibly name the family relation to, the laughing, the fighting. i loved it.

my dad who has visited me a few times loved it too. this year was supposed to be no exception but then everything changed with his heart surgery. we are returning to a small christmas at home. part of me still longs for that big celebration in the sun. the other part of me is exchanging recipe and gift ideas with my brother and my sister. my dad has ordered a christmas tree and told me i am in charge of decorating, he can only watch and drink wine this year. this part of me has bought and wrapped all the presents just in time and is now praying for the suitcase gods that it will close. this part of me is happy to have a dad to celebrate christmas with, because that is the one thing i have learned this year, that actually nothing else matters.  

the news.

i’m telling you my news today. you may or may not care and that is entirely up to you, but i am quite excited.

i told my uncle last night and he was sort of the last hurdle beloved that i had to tell in person before putting it in writing. if i haven’t told you in person, please don’t be upset with me, it doesn’t mean that i don’t love you, it simply means that i am less scared of you than i am of my uncle. i was very scared he would yell at me. or even worse not speak to me at all. so before i started telling him, i made him promise.

me: promise that regardless of what i tell you now that you will not not speak to me anymore.
uncle: who are you marrying?
uncle: are you marrying insert name of hated ex-boyfriend here?
me: noooo!
uncle: okay, then i promise.

here is the big news: i am moving to hamburg next year.

eeek.

there i said it. i wrote it. it’s on the internet. which is the 21st century version of putting something in stone, isn’t it?

you ask why? of course you do. here you go:

faq as to why annika is leaving beautiful, sunny cape town and moving to hamburg which is known more for its fish rolls and drizzling rain. (not that there is anything wrong with fish rolls!)

q: when did you make this decision?
a: three and a half weeks ago after a sunday afternoon nap dream about hamburg.

q: is that when you make your important decisions? after a nap?
a: the value of naps is completely underrated. i believe in their powers and make most of my important decisions either during nap time or when i’m in the shower. restaurants should come with beds or showers, because it takes me forever to decide what i want to order.

q: but don’t you like cape town?
a: i love cape town! but sometimes love is not enough.

q: didn’t you always say that cape town was your home?
a: i did say that, but in the end it actually isn’t my home. i can’t even say drol in die drinkwater properly and i don’t like rugby. i also got into an argument once with an ex when he wanted to buy a small braai and put it on my balcony. i thought that was silly as i have a perfectly fine stove and good frying pans.

q: during your last christmas holiday in germany you were not only sick, but also depressed – how will you manage?
a: that’s why i’m planning to move in summer, so i can ease into it. also i will tell my dad to make something else than oily beans for christmas lunch so i won’t get sick again.

q: still…why are you moving?
a: besides the nap dream? i read this lovely story from natasha. she had just gotten robbed in her sleep and could still find such comfort in the fact that she is south african and how she loves her country, her home. i thought that was beautiful, but i realized when it comes to south africa i can’t relate.

q: have you tried?
a: yes, i have tried a lot. for six years in fact. but it has been hard, so now i want to live in a place where maybe relating for me is a bit easier.

q: what are you going to do in germany?
a: besides dancing a whole night on the reeperbahn and eating a fish roll for breakfast? okay, in no order of importance:
play uno with my nephew.
have my brother cook me dinner.
meet marie’s baby girl.
play with marie’s baby girl.
fly to paris for a weekend to eat all the macarons at ladurée.
bring back more macarons to eat with julia.
actually, scratch that.
i’d fly to paris with julia and eat all the macarons at ladurée together.
eat joey’s pizza and paint my nails red with xenia.
do bikram yoga every day.
be home for my dad’s birthday and finally clean up the attic.
have carnival in cologne again.
get an awesome job. or work freelance. or start my own business. just because i can.
drink rhubarb juice. with the good aldi champagne.
have my mum make me the original poor man’s meal.
finally fly with ryanair. to barcelona and rome and morocco and london (ash!!!).
shop at cos. and buy some prada shoes.

the list could go on and on.

q: but won’t you miss cape town?
a: i will miss cape town terribly. and if i were to put together a list of things i love and like doing here it would be just as long.

q: then why do you go?
a: you have asked that before. i am simply a bit stuck here. i need a new adventure.

q: i don’t like it.
a: that’s not a question and you don’t have to like it. everybody who is important to me likes it or at least understands and supports my decision.

guys, if you think this was a weird post you are probably right and i apologize. i can’t really put it all into one coherent string of thoughts yet, at least not in writing. as i have mentioned before my head is swimming these days with the magnitude of my decision and how i will make it all happen and how much i will miss cape town and the questions of am i freaking crazy? and should i take my pizza shovel with? go around in my head. so that is why this post is what it is and the answers to those last questions are probably yes and yes. i will leave as such for now.

on my mind and in my heart.

i read an article the other day about the cardinal blogger sins. i am guilty of quite a few mainly that i apologize constantly for not writing more. this post however will bring you some new ones. first i am posting a picture that has absolutely nothing today with the content of today’s post. but i just think it is so damn pretty and i took it last week during this one minute the double rainbow was out and i just wanted to share it. because it is just so damn pretty. the second one is that i am telling you i will announce some big news soon, but i’m basically just announcing the announcement. how terribly annoying of me.

in my defence i have been a bit rattled this last week despite the post-holiday blues having worn off. now it actually just makes me a bit sad, my holiday seems years ago. i tried to recreate a few beloved dishes and failed so miserably that i had to console myself with good old pasta, wine, and a number of pecan nut blondies so high i will never tell anybody. in combination with avoiding my yoga mat this has made me feel sluggish and tired.

the content of the announcement still has me up thinking and planning and talking to some people and all i will say for now is that it’s shaping up nicely, but as it is quite big it is also quite emotional. do you hate me yet for all my hinting? i know, i know…

work has been busy.

i haven’t slept well.

i had a fallout with a friend. or at least i think i did. how do you call it if your friend is not returning your text messages, calls, and an email, because he may not like to hear what you have to say because he behaved like a crappy friend in your opinion? for a lack of better word i call it a fallout and it has been on my mind all the time, making me angry and sad at all at once.

i have discovered the bachelor/ the bachelorette for my evening entertainment. and as entertaining as i find it, it makes me really sad that i would find it so entertaining.

my flat is a mess. and i can call it creative chaos all i want, it is still a mess. and you wouldn’t think so when you saw the state of my kitchen, but i actually really dislike a messy kitchen.

so with that said the plan is to spend more time on my mat, reading a book, eating some salad, and doing a major spring clean on the weekend.

what’s happening in your life?

the h word.

friday night i went for a spontaneous dinner at thekla’s house.  we ended up being a group of four girls and the night got quite fun and more than a little raunchy for an evening without tequila. banter flew back and forth and at some point thekla shouted at me (yes, we even got to a shouting point without tequila) “oh my god, you are a total hipster!”

silence. that really hurt.

whether i am a hipster on the grand scheme of things or not, living in cape town and being called a hipster wasn’t okay for me. look, i don’t mind the concept of things organic, artisan, and authentic, but the hipster breed in this city is something else altogether. so i told thekla if she wanted to call me names, she had to call me an original hipster.

when i lived in williamsburg 10 years ago everybody was already a hipster, before the term and definition had even made its way over from portland.

skinny jeans? check.

skinny artist boys in skinny jeans? check.

charm bracelets and lockets? check thanks to inheritance from my mother.

vintage something? paisley blouses from a flea market in rome, ironic mickey mouse t-shirt from avenue b, old motorcycle boots worn with mini-skirt in august.

mexican peasant skirts and leather sandals? handmade on a mexican curb side.

check, check, check, and check.

farmers’ markets with ugly organic tomatoes and homemade lemonade? every sunday.

eating “gourmet” burgers in a little hole in the wall? that’s what the east village is for, check please!

in addition i smoked gauloises at that time, which was more hipster than growing your own tobacco in new york. gladys and ipek did the knitting, marie organized stripy socks for us at her job in the sock company.  we also had julian, the cat. he was awesome and liked to sleep in the rice cooker. if i would have had my way his name would have been norbert and i don’t think you can get a more hipster name than that. we took pictures of him constantly and while people liked our cat pictures, they did refuse to eat at our place after seeing him in the rice cooker.

before lomo and instagram we had the original old school camera – the polaroid. i must admit that i have been taking selfies long before the term was coined and pictures of my shoes too. there are already many unflattering pictures of me with a protruding nose due to the awkward selfie angle, so these days i try to limit their exposure on the internet. personally i think most people’s shoes are not that exciting and only warrant a picture if they are louboutin or dangle above a volcano.

we listened to the strokes when they were the first band with a the and saw them live when they were still playing in bars. the same went for a whole lot of indie bands that by now have come and gone or landed a gig at rocking the daisies.

no offense, or take it if you must, but south africa is lacking a bit behind with certain things or gives them a let’s call it interesting angle. it seems a bit like playing telephone. americans, those silly people, whisper hipster and south africans hears wears ugly jerseys and thinks their cat, overpriced craft beer and coffee makes them a better person. i don’t want to wear an ugly jersey with a horse head that was hand knit by someone else’s mother and pretend it is cool. an ugly jersey by any other name is still an ugly jersey. my uncle has been making moonshine in his basement since forever so i call moonshine the new craft beer. and when it comes to cats…well, i like cats. i also like dogs. i think bats are cool. and giraffes are the most awesome of all animals. cats were never my  thing to write home about. if you are a fan of origin, truth & co. rest assured i am too. however most days i am perfectly fine with instant and when i lived in new york filter coffee from the corner deli was my favourite. if you think cat poop coffee is thing to drink i may just silently applaud someone with brilliant marketing skills who turned that shit into gold.

the thing is that i grew up in the 80s and a lot of things considered hipster in this city tend to go back to this era of unfortunate style choices. so to almost anything you throw at me, i can say been there, worn that. i already wore jerseys in unfortunate colours and prints as a child, so i am very happy to stick to black cashmere these days.  i learned when i was 8 years old that to pull off bangs you need to have a certain shape of face. if you don’t have said shape you will look scary or scared. or both. if you had to wear big glasses as a child and were teased for it, you are happy for the advances of modern days and the contact lenses that come with it. you won’t go out and spend a fortune on a pair of xxl bamboo frames. call it whatever you like, but this was not a good look back then and it ain’t a good look now:

on a final, very personal note, love it or hate it: i have been wearing my hair up in a high, somewhat messy bun since 2001. it wasn’t chloë sevigny, it was me who did it first. 

that and my onesie make me an original hipster if you care to call me such.

peasant blouse home made and shovel for organic 

gardening in the sand pit. 

rocking my christmas onesie and my brother's vinyl.

Fashion Chronicles - part 4.

Dedicated to all (my) fashion lovers & haters from all times and places.

Bad Hersfeld

The one distinct fashion item I can remember was also one of high embarrassment: Buffalo shoes. The platform heels went high and higher and everyone was wearing them. At some point even I couldn’t resist and bought a pair of ankle boots with 10cm heels, 2 sizes too big as per usual since I needed them in time for a party. My outfit and the party was a smashing success and made me go a bit crazy since I felt the need for a second pair afterwards. This time the fashion police should have been on my high, high heels as I got a pair of mint coloured, suede clogs. I have nothing to say in my defence.

New York

The devil wears Prada and so did we. If you had the honour to work at Vogue as a fashion assistant, you would manage to walk around wearing little Chloe dresses with some very fashionable high, high heels. Why? Because you work at Vogue and it’s not too hard to walk in heels if you have a town car at your disposal to get you around. I didn’t work for Vogue and had to use the subway – therefore Old Navy flip flops or vintage motorcycle boots with the Chloe dresses. The one time I attempted to walk in heels on a New York sidewalk, I literally ended up flat on my face and deep in humiliation.

Cape Town

I am waiting for a guy to show up not wearing shorts and slops on a date and girl to say to me at the supermarket “Wow, what a beautiful bag. Is that Pucci?” I have been waiting for a long time. I haven’t given up yet. I’m still waiting. In the meanwhile I hope that the guy who stole one of my Pucci bags, was in fact one of the ignorant ones, threw it out so now some old lady, who found it at the side of the road, is walking around with a funny coloured bag in Gugulethu.

More tomorrow – what should it be? I’m thinking food, art&culture, sex, and favourite pets. What are you guys thinking?

Part 3: Tales of coffee.

Bad Hersfeld

I spent half my waking teenage years at Zanella’s Eiscafe. Every single day my friends and I would go there for hours after school. I think most of my pocket money went towards ‘Schinken- Käse-Toast Spezial’.  It’s the kind of place where they still ask you whether you want your cappuccino with whipped cream or the Italian way (which is what you get when you order just a cappuccino anywhere else in the world).

New York

There is only one way to drink iced coffee to me: espresso in a glass, ice cubes, cold water – no questions asked and very barista in NYC knows it.

Cape Town

As long as I don’t expect the above without being asked whether they should use hot or cold water (really??), I am quite happy with the choices here: Instant coffee culture at my office, Deluxe for vacation feeling and Vida with a slab of Lindt for everyday joy. Oh joy!

Part 2: Tales of the weather.

Bad Hersfeld

Your average mid-Germany mix of sun, snow and everything in between. Mind you, one time it snowed so much that I managed to lose my neon pink gym bag on my way to school in a snowstorm and it was never seen again after. I must ask my mother some time: What was she thinking to let me walk in this weather?

New York

The time of the big black out comes to mind when my friend was doing Bikram yoga in our lounge as it was about 40 degrees without air conditioning. Or the time I was stuck in crazy cat guy’s flat, because there was so much snow. Or how August in NYC is still the best smelling month ever to me, though everyone who has been will call me crazy for it.

Cape Town

You know these rainy days when you just want to cuddle up in bed, watch movies, eat chocolate and not leave the house at all? In Cape Town they are usually spoiled by some sunshine coming out sooner or later making you feel guilty for not spending the day outside. When my aunt has a day like that she will refer to the sunshine as the yellow piggy, I will simply be thankful for my heavy, dark curtains and the knowledge that there is never a shortage of more sunny days just around the corner.

Tales of men.

I will break this up a bit as I’m quite busy today and my attention span can’t deal with more than a paragraph at the time. Shall you have a request for a category, feel free to ask. For the time being I will start with something for the girls:

Part 1: Tales of men.

Bad Hersfeld

Back in my day there was a small, but nice selection on the menu: preppy doctor’s sons, local celebrity offsprings and the annual addition of yummy actors from the summer theatre. I shall report on the current situation when I go back in August.

New York

“No one has breakfast at Tiffany’s and no one has affairs to remember.” Yet, the tide might be changing as my list of friends getting married, having babies and generally living happily ever after in NYC seems to be growing over the last couple of years.

Cape Town

In the words of my favourite new wine:  “Western Cape – Where the winemakers surf and the surfers make wine.” What’s not to love?

The tale of how the tales came along.

This story was inspired by something you can call a dare from my Jo’burg writer pen pal. I have been trying to get him to come to Cape Town and finally suggested he pitch a story about Bikram yoga and get his boss to pay him to fly down. Apparently this won’t work as they have studios there as well. (Pah! Not with me teaching and saying silly things like “And now smile!” Yes, I actually said that in class and almost wanted to bite my tongue off to make up for it afterwards. Silly, silly phrase when you are standing on one leg, trying to stretch in opposite directions. I walked out of class once when a teacher said it.)

No good reason for him to travel for this, so he told me I should come up with better pitches. Last night I took to the task and started thinking and up I came with Tales of 3 Cities. A story only I could tell as only me has lived in the cities in question. Or least I am the only one he knows. So an interview would have to be set up and I pretending to be a diva would have him fly down.  That was the plan. 

Then I looked at my beautiful writer desk du jour, having everything one needs to write – candles, wine, ancient eMac, cigarettes, notepad. All of a sudden my inner me got a bit feisty and thought screw that, he can come up with his own pitches to come see me, I will make it my own story. Sorry, man!

So here we go…Tales of 3 Cities. The tales part might be misleading though. Consider it more a guide to cities, which had and still have a big significance in my life: my home town Bad Hersfeld, my heart city New York, and my current favourite Cape Town. All rated on things I find important when visiting a city like coffee, fashion, weather, men...stay tuned...

P.S. For anyone who thinks I screwed myself now, by not giving him the story – I pitched an even better one to him last night via email. Involving hotels and tooth brushing and sexy strangers. If his boss doesn’t pick that one up, then I don’t know what’s wrong with the world. It will be genius.