train of thoughts.

you would assume being on a night train in the top bunk is conducive to writing. it really isn't when you have to wonder who slept in the sheets before you, whether you might fall off, and if the roaches in the food carriage are any indication to what's underneath your bed. but then your travel companion brings out a $1 bottle of rum to make it all better and you decide that drinking is more of a necessity than writing on the night train.

however the a couple of days later the same thoughts are still here and i can sum it up neatly: i am starting to miss home. i am at the pinnacle of my trip, one cannot not love hoi an, by now i know everybody's name in my group and have learned how to avoid the motorbikes, and i prefer the vietnamese food to anything i have ever eaten. and now i am starting to miss home. how? why?

first of all my body feels a bit off. i have gotten sunburnt, had a cold sore, sport various bites from anonymous sources, and my left toe nail seems to be dying (which, dear wary traveller, had already started back home, so one cannot blame asia for it!), and for the past few days my stomach feels dodgy and since i have so far gotten away with eating pretty much anything, this makes me especially grumpy. it is probably punishment as i was secretly laughing at a couple who wiped their utensils with antiseptic at a fancy breakfast place. i obviously didn't and here i am looking for the happy house (yes, that's really how it's called!).

i am also starting to realize that even though i am travelling with a lovely group, i sometimes feel really lonely within this group. in certain moments i feel even more lonely than if i was travelling by myself, because being surrounded by people makes me more aware that they are not my people. though i have met some great girls, had nice chit chats and some good conversations, at the end of the day they are still strangers. i miss the non strangers in my life. i miss people that i have a history with, that i don't need to explain to, that still get my references.

i miss my brother, because he would love the fact that vietnam seems to love tin tin as much as he does. i miss julia to talk me in or out of buying giraffe print fabric for my tailor made pants. i didn't get them in the end, but i'm afraid i made the wrong decision, because i could have had giraffe pants! i miss my mother, because she would love all the different massage places and watching the chefs in the kitchens and the ladies on the markets. she would go into any restaurant kitchen if they would allow her and here most chefs actually wouldn't mind. i miss thekla, because she would enjoy eating all the food with me and i wouldn't have to feel bad that i can actually, without any problem, eat three full meals per day. i miss marie so she can check for me if something is really silk or not. i miss claire so i can proudly tell her that not me, but only the cover of my camera lens, fell into the rice paddy and luckily i had a knight in sweaty armour by my side to stick his arm into the muck and fish it out for me. i miss my father, because he would love taking pictures with me of our dinner before it becomes our dinner and because he is the best to order champagne cocktails in french. as it is i didn't have any because i'm not that fancy on my own.

but having that said, i will stop now. i have to collect my non-giraffe tailored pants, buy a bracelet, eat lunch at morning glory (no jokes please, i have heard them all over the last week), get a massage, attend a birthday party, and take a boat trip down the river for the lantern festival. so yes, i miss you guys, but i will see you soon, and life is too good right now to mope. 

family addition.

i am having an acute bout of cabin fever. cabin fever as in i don’t want to be in cape town anymore, i want to go on my trip now. i do fully accept that all of you not living here will probably want to hit me over the head right about now for complaining. i get that, but i simply cannot sit still anymore and i am not quite sure how i will manage the next four weeks.

i would soothe my cravings with a little road trip, but there is a new addition in my family that makes the budget a bit tight. which is okay, because she is beautiful and i love her so much already.

the right shoes for travelling the world.

so today i have some exciting news and a champagne headache.

i'm going to be a contributor for travelettes.

that's the exciting news and you just don’t see me shrieking because of the headache. however i  am shrieking  and jumping up and down on the inside.

travelettes is a travel blog with a group of awesome girls who go out into the world and prove that backpacking in heels is not a contradiction. i like that premise and so i sent them an application and some stories. katja, the founder of the travelettes apparently liked my application letter so much that she already posted it on the blog and put my already fragile head into a slight overdrive.

reading important mail on my phone while still in bed with one eye closed is tricky business. i still gathered though that she really seemed to like my writing and since she is neither my mother nor am i paying her to say that, i was genuinely touched and happy and proud.

we may call a blog an online diary, but in the end we write to get read, don't we? a story told needs an audience. it's a bit like that thought experiment "if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" if we write and nobody reads it, does it matter that we write? we think that our words matter in one way or another and if someone else reads them it affirms this notion. 

at least that it is one of the main reasons why i write. i like writing, but i do write to be read. having someone tell me that they like what i write makes me happy, makes me want to write more, makes me want to write better, makes me even write in bed on sunday with a headache and it makes me grin silly.

now here is a little problem i have with this whole excitement though. i think i may have lied by omission in my application.

i don't wear heels and i certainly don't travel in them.

ups.

i dare say, i get shoes.  my taste in shoes is impeccable. i may not have many for women’s standards, but the ones i have are really, really good.  i have prada, dries van noten, vintage charles jourdan, pierre hardy, and repetto. however none of them have more than 2-inch heels. i hate to admit it, but i cannot walk in heels. it's not the pain, the pain usually one can drink away, but i simply cannot walk without looking odd and stumbling, sometimes i even add a full-on fall and/or ankle sprain. i don’t do it to myself when i go to work so why would i do it to myself when i go on vacation?

but now you probably wonder if i don't i want to be fancy sometimes and need shoes to go with it? the truth is, i don't think i am a very fancy person at heart. yes, i am sitting here with a champagne hangover but i also spilled a lot of said champagne very un-fancily all over my dress last night. truthfully as a girl it's usually enough to be fancy on top, most people don't care about the fanciness of your shoes. which i guess is a bit sad for the shoes, but also a reality of the world outside of fashion. years ago an ex visited me in new york before christmas. the visit didn't go very well so i was already in an unpleasant mood when our last evening finally came along. we had reservations at the rivercafe, the one truly fancy old school place where they still make men wear ties and stuff. i had already packed most of my wardrobe as i was leaving the next day and left with a choice of wearing strappy summer sandals or sneakers. they were light blue pumas and awesome as far as sneakers go, but obviously an odd choice for the rivercafe. since we were having a snow storm i didn't care and chose them over summer sandals. the ex wouldn't stop moaning and complaining about how they wouldn't let us in due to my shoe choice. he was right in that we didn't get in. however it was due to his lack of tie. because unlike they make it seem in the movies, restaurants like that don't keep a collection of spare clip-ons, they just give your table to some other dude who came without a reservation but wearing a tie.

so i’d say i am more cool (can i say that about myself without sounding like a complete ass?) than fancy and therefore my preferred choice of travel shoes have been my old vintage motorcycle boots. what can i say, unlike heels, they were actually made for walking. i have walked in them to fashion weeks in paris and new york, they have been to the vatican and the dome in milan, they have slept in five star resort in st. barth’s, park city and miami, and have ridden with me on a basotho pony in the lesotho highlands. they have lived by far a more exciting life than any heel that i ever bought, failed to walk in and which subsequently died alone and unworn in my closet.

having explained all of that, dear travelettes, i hope you won’t mind that i will therefore adhere to the credo of backpacking* suitcase-wheeling in vintage motorcycle boots.

*i did admit that i don’t even own a backpack and they didn’t seem to think that was a problem.

Food for thought.

It is apparently bad etiquette to beg for any kind of votes or followers from readers and friends alike. I know, I know…But guess what? I will do it anyhow. Because if I beg enough I could win dinner in Mexico. And breakfast. And lunch. Basically a whole holiday with no pretence to see ancient temples or museums, a holiday for no other reason but just to stuff my face with little thingies* and other Mexican delicacies. Considering that I come from a family of avid Tequila drinkers, have a Mexican best friend, and already know how to make a killer guacamole, I think I make an excellent contestant to broaden my food horizon in the land itself.

So take a look at my board here, follow me on Pinterest, and if I win - Tequila for everybody!

I found and used this video about the Café Dao and its wonderful owners in Hoi An as inspiration. Though not Mexican, it represents everything what food is all about for me...family, friendship, colours, cultural heritage, sharing, conversation, and love.



Cafe Dao from tewfic el-sawy on Vimeo.

*Taquitos. They are called taquitos. Gladys would make them for me if I begged and pleaded long enough. I could never remember the name so dubbed them little thingies. Not an appropriate term though if you try to order in a restaurant as I have come to realize.

From Morocco with meatballs.

Before you start reading and get disappointed: no, there is no recipe for meatballs in this post. Go google! Just a little visual reminder of the dish I could have (or maybe did) eat every day:

I know I have been lazy, but I promise I will tell you stories of Morocco. Ever since coming back however I seem to lack energy. I blame it on my now again almost sugarless diet. It makes me grumpy and sleepy. But that shouldn’t concern you and you deserve stories. I did think about how and if one can squeeze two weeks full of magic, excitement, and enough mint tea for a year into a blog post. Or two. Or three. Or how many would it take? And in what order?
Chronologically? Makes sense. Then I would have to start with Casablanca though and as my travel companion Peter spelled it out nicely– Casablanca is a dive. We all got ripped off in the taxis and the only beautiful thing there to see is Mosque Hassan II, which closed due to Ramadan. I however almost managed to still get ripped off there as well (which I only realized later after borrowing someone’s French number chart and could figure out how much they wanted from me). Then a stranger asked me whether I was American and my immediate response was: Why? Am I fat? (Forgive me my wonderful, slim American friends! I don’t even know where that came from…I think it was my guilty conscious because of the sugar loaded mint tea.) My taxi driver later just stared at me when I told him I was from South Africa and declared: But you are not black! I refused to reply to that or tip him. Good about was the ice cream that night, though topped immediately by the one in Essaouira and Marrakech. So no, Casablanca was no good and chronologically is out.

Mosque Hassan II - Casablanca's one and only gem.

Maybe order of importance? I wouldn’t even now where to start, except to put Casablanca last on the list. It was definitely a highlight when the carpet shop owner told me I was beautiful and his assistant offered me 600 camels, which with a value of 10-30k/camel would make me quite bling in camel terms. Since nothing came of it though as I gracefully accepted the compliment, but declined the assistants offer, so it won’t make for a fulfilled story with happy end.
I also thought to just bail and not right anything with the excuse of the trip motto what happens in Morocco stays in Morocco. Then I thought everybody's dirty mind would just go crazy and in the end sharing is caring.
Lucky for you, I decided to just do what I do best and tell you random stuff about the trip. Stuff that I liked, loved, or had always dreamed of. Experiences I will remember for years to come and the little things that made this trip one of the bestest* in my life. So stay tuned for tales of the scary lady in the hammam, my no-shop stop in Marrakesh, scary cats in the desert, and how we had drinks with an STD…

*I am still aware that this is not a word. It should be though. I love it and it looks right to me. Sometimes there are situations when best just doesn’t cut it. Spell police, if you were there, you would understand.

Vacation Me.

I need a holiday. There I said it. No, I am not overworked or overly stressed, I just need to get away from my life for a bit. I need to morph into this wondrous person that I call Vacation Me. This person is different. This person is everything I am usually not – friendly and patient and not easily annoyed. Mind you the time I spend on the phone with call centres or reading about religious anti-gay fanatics online is limited when I am on vacation so that helps to make Vacation Me appear, but even if… as Vacation Me I am gracious and compassionate and as long I have something to read I don’t even mind flight delays. Vacation Me likes little plane pillows and eye masks, movies on tiny screens and wine in tiny bottles, and yes, even airplane food! Vacation Me doesn’t mind being tired and jetlagged when dragging a too heavy suitcase into scorching temperatures while still wearing travel winter clothes. Vacation Me doesn’t even mind traffic and hooting while in a taxi driving through a new city. Vacation Me smiles a lot and asks a lot and listens a lot more. Vacation Me seems to be a better version of me and right now I’m as far away from being the Vacation Me as I possibly could. So you see – it’s time, I need a holiday.

I will see if I can start the holidays early, go home, and download books for the trip onto the Kindle. For some reason I think it may just get Vacation Me in the mood to come out…

Anysroad on the road.

Chuck Bass was just shot on Gossip Girl and I cannot find the following episode. I actually don't even know whether this tragic cinematic ending means that the entire season is over, which will mean that I will have to wait even longer to find out if they came up with a good way of brining him back to life. Either way I won't know during the next 14 hours and afterwards I probably won't care anymore. But for the time being Turkish Airlines' inflight program is the only thing I'm really interested in. Since they list Wall-E under new releases in the movie section, one will understand why I get so excited about Gossip Girl season 3...
They also offer all seven Harry Potter, which one can admit openly to like. Only problem is that I can't remember the order just by their titles, so that may become a bit of trial and error. After all one doesn't want to go back to Ron Weasley as a red haired just-nerd in part 1 when you can have geeky cool Ron a la Tom Ford cardigan and glasses in part 7. And yes, I do know Harry is actually the one with the glasses...

In case you haven't guessed – I'm on a plane on my way to Germany. Pitstop in Jo’burg which means no TV as I write, which is truthfully probably why I write. I love inflight movies and most things about flying in general and that does include the food. I'm weird this way. I like it so much, that I was even trying to put together a story with a little list for the Wellness warehouse blog on how to make travel easy and stress free. Today I realized that the only point on the list I actually follow myself is a) Upon arrival have a cold shower and a cold glass of bubbly. Though I usually shower hot and drink the bottle.
Other suggestions included to travel lightly, which already sounds silly to any girl and already my cramping shoulder is once again a reminder that I failed to comply. Same goes for the one that talks about hydrating a lot during the flight, which even I know does not mean drinking G&T followed by red wine and whiskey during the night.
Regardless I am actually no expert, but I am usually never stressed when flying so I guess I must be doing something right. But the problem when writing a story for a wellness blog, you can't really admit that your personal recipe for sleep success are three glasses of red wine followed by two sleeping pills.
So, I'm not perfect, but a happy girl right now and close to take a picture of my little Airbook propped up on the only slightly bigger fold out table. It's as excited as me to be out for the first time in its young life and happy about the admiring looks it is getting. Ok. No. I won't take a picture though, that might be too much. Just imagine it – we do look so pretty together.

By now it is 03h30 and I actually slept a few hours not only thanks to wine and sleeping pill, but also to the fact that I had 2.5 seats. By neighbour at some point realized that it was pointless for him to even try to claim the full seat next to him.
Now it's breakfast and Harry Potter time. I ordered Vishne with my eggs, which is sour cherry juice and it reminds me of my time in Istanbul 6 years ago. Good memories. I'm drifting off again. I already know that Harry will be alright. More once we land...

The second part of the trip wasn't so enjoyable. Two passport controls after one another at the Istanbul airport for no apparent reason whatsoever. Each with a line that made me almost turn around and rather have another 14 hour flight than to to wait my turn. All that in 24 degrees with what seemed 100% humidity at 6 o'clock in the morning. I guess I should have enjoyed it more as it might be the last time on my trip I will feel like summer.
At security I was asked twice whether I had a deodorant or perfume and since I was showing him my products while he asked, I can only assume he was hinting I should finally use it. Fair point I guess, if a bit cheeky.
The flight to Frankfurt was trying to teach me another lesson in patience as I had a mother with a loud toddler and a baby sitting next to me. The baby thought it fun to pull on my jacket throughout. The mother didn't seem to mind very much and it took me all my good memories of baby Isabella not to slap the baby's hand away. One can tell I am not mother maybe, but I was wondering if that was necessary. The baby was lucky that I held back with any judgement other than rolling my eyes.

Now I have an hour to spare before my train goes and the options are overcrowded cafes or a cold platform. I'm choosing the latter and a small stint at the smokers corner, which is a square on the platform contained with a yellow line. Yes, we are outside yet one is not allowed to step over the line while smoking. That is Germany in a nutshell for you.

I'm starting to feel slightly delirious now and it's more than time for that shower and the bottle of bubbly.

To-Do list deluxe.

In case you wonder why I’m flustered at the moment, here is a glimpse of my to-do list which should be completed before I leave on Sunday and I think it’s quite extensive.*

*If you wonder why things which should happen in the future are already crossed out – I do know myself quite well, certain things are just not meant to happen and the won’t.

Tuesday:

Do taxes. Play Angry Birds.

Fetch shoes from repair shop. Do yoga.

Get Airbook program from my uncle so I can write on the plane and when annoyed by my mother. Drink wine with uncle.

Wednesday:

Do taxes.

Get Airbook program.

Win Diletto hamper. Nope, just found out, I didn’t.

Have a spa afternoon with Sabina and eat sushi.

Steam clothes, which need to be taken to second hand shop. Will move onto the to-do when back list.

Dye hair. Not a good idea as I will do the early morning yoga class.

Get newspapers and do finish the DIY spray paint project. Will also move onto the to-do when back list.

Thursday:

Do early morning yoga class. Sleep in.

Do taxes if not already done.

Test Airbook writing program.

Make book selection for plane ride.

Got to V&A to the Mac store, buy a cool surfer necklace for Jakob and buy books for plane ride after realizing there is nothing on my own shelf to keep me busy for 14 hours.  Decide the V&A is too horrible to bear on a Thursday.

Get luggage from Naomi. Get luggage and drink two bottles of wine with her.

Have cocktails at Five Flies.

Go to secret supper club.

Friday:

Really do taxes if not already done.

Write out-of-office email reply.

Clean and organize desk. Put everything in a drawer.

Leave early, have cocktails.

Teach a yoga class.

Have dinner with family.

Saturday:

Teach a yoga class.

Get a haircut.

Go to the V&A.

Get annoyed with myself for not going during the week and wonder why so many tourists come here during winter.

Put outfits for trip together. Throw random things in the suitcase.

Decide on 5 books for the plane ride. Realize that might be overkill. One must stay at home.

Wash sheets. Put on the to-do when back list.

Go to bed sober and early. Drink a bottle of wine with the reasoning that it will be three whole weeks till I get South African wine again and if that’s not a good reason, what is?

Sunday:

Do yoga. Get nervous, drink coffee and smoke instead.

Put papers into travel folder.

Take a zip-block bag for liquids on the plane.

Have a celebratory small glass of wine for not forgetting the zip-block bag.

Have lunch and some more wine with Naomi.

Realize at the airport that I left my glasses at home.  No, that was last time and I actually didn’t, but realized even that too late as Thekla was already on her way back to my house to fetch them while I was checking in.

Realize I forgot to buy the body lotion for Julia and thanking duty-free.

Get in trouble for not having a zip-block bag that, well, zips.

Buy another book at airport book shop.

Have a G&T. Have two.

Home sweet home.

Everybody in Cape Town agrees that today is a sleeping and staying in bed weather day. Unfortunately the holiday only starts tomorrow, which doesn’t keep me from feeling oddly dreamlike and not quite awake. Apparently I’m not alone. Good to know.
Yesterday on the other hand was glorious sunshine so I can keep my promise and show you pictures of the things that have moved around with me for quite some time. I do agree that some may seem a bit random, but keep in mind – too each their own. I take them with to make myself feel at home and don’t care if it doesn’t make feel anybody else this way.

My Habitat trays, which I got in Cologne (At least I think that’s where they from, I had them for so long, I can’t be sure.), which means they have moved from Cologne to New York, from New York to Bad Hersfeld, from Bad Hersfeld to Cape Town and there from Seapoint to Obz to Oranjezicht to Claremont to Tamboerskloof to Gardens. You get the picture. They are quite well travelled and have brightened many of my kitchens.

Compared to the trays this ashtray is probably even more ancient and can rightly be considered a vintage style icon and a suitable murder weapon. One of my very best and funny enough non-smoking friends, Katrin, gave it to me way back in the day. One of the greatest gifts I ever got and therefore worth paying for the luggage overweight.

My travel book, which I think could technically be considered a coffee table book. Then again usually coffee table books are not meant to be read. I read in this book all the time. Two pages dedicated to each country there is in the world: pictures, map, things to do, best time to go, etc. Condensed to give an overview in the most beautiful and inspiring way possible. I need it to feel home, because it reminds me that I am.

If you want to see something really random, look at my Pretty Useless Post. The little enamel blobs have also been with me for the past few years and they really have no good reason to stuff up my suitcase, except that I like having them around.

I guess, if I ever do get stuck on a deserted island and these are the things I have decided to take with me:

a) I will not get bored as I can play Frisbee with my trays.
b) I won’t be hungry as I can beat a coconut open with my ashtray.*
c) I can try to identify with the help of my book where I got stranded.
d) I can make an SOS out of blobs in the sand.

I’ll take my chances I say.

*This may actually not be true as I once saw a huge tortoise with a hole in her shell from a coconut that fell on her. In the fight coconut against tortoise, coconut won and I’m not sure where the ashtray will be on the hardest things in the world scale. I may have to club fishes over the head instead.

Weltenbummler.

Quickie post as I am browsing at the coolest website there is: http://www.roundtheworldticket.com/. Why? Well, because this morning I woke up and decided I need to take a trip around the world. Approximate route like this:

As you can maybe tell it’s pulling me East and only to places that are generally not considered cold. I don't feel like packing the Marc Jacobs parka. It's huge and the zipper is broken. In general the packing might be a problem for me. Considering that I'm still the remainings of a girl who used to travel with a seperate dufflebag for her shoes. The site recommends to pack everything you think you'll need and then cut it half. Deep breath. Then again they also recommend to go shopping wherever you go. That's a nice idea.
Still no places colder than Cape Town in winter for me. That might be tricky anyhow, as I don't think such a place exists. It's freezing here.
Exception where I would put up with the cold, might be Tibet, Nepal, and Mongolia, but apparently the website doesn't like these countries as they weren’t even listed as an option.

So this will just be first rough route. The website calculated that my planned trip will cost me about $ 11672 maximum in airfares.

How does one find a travel sponsor? And no, I’m not talking about my father or a sugar daddy of any sorts. Any ideas?

Quizzing the teacher.

Here my answers to the questions any Bikram Yoga teacher should ask themself:

1. Why do you like it hot?It reminds me of August in New York – the best month in the whole world!

2. As a child, what did you want to be “when you grew up?”
A dentist, a hairstylist, a secret agent, a princess and funny enough a woman in Africa.

3. Tell us about your first kiss: who, when, where?
Kim Roth, 20 years ago, in a tent at a family party

4. What’s your most prized possession?
These days my sheep wool slippers. In general my scarves.

5. What is your most embarrassing moment on the teacher’s box?
I don’t have a box. Kind of sad now that I think about it. If I had one, it would probably have been the time when I said “And now bring your weight into your balls.”

6. What’s the best/worst thing about being a Bikram Yoga teacher?
Best: The way people smile at you when they leave the studio.
Worst: Lots of sweaty laundry.

7. Describe your perfect yoga shorts.
Indestructible cotton shorts from the GAP.

8. What’s the first thing you think of when you wake up in the morning?
I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, can I stay in bed please?

9. Have you ever been in love?
Yes, I think so.

10. Say one nice thing about the person who first told you about Bikram Yoga.
My lovely, wonderfully crazy sister-in-law. She is lovely and wonderfully crazy.

11. Words or phrases you overuse:
What not.
And then ...

12. Do you remember what your first Bikram class was like?
Uncomfortable due to the floppy, polyester running shorts I was wearing.

13. What’s your guilty pleasure?
Pinot Noir and pasta.

14. Do you have a “most memorable Bikram moment”? First class I ever taught. I walked in, stood in front of the class and felt a very profound sense of purpose.

15. If you could have any job, what would it be?
Travelling writer or writing traveller.

16. What’s your favourite smell? Coconut.

Confessions of a Pastaholic II

Chapter 1 - The true beginning…disputed.

In my family run two slightly conflicting story on how my obsession with Pasta began. My Dad’s story (and he is sticking to it) is quick and simple: My parents went on a trip to Venice shortly after they were married. That is were I was conceived.

Venice + Honeymoon = Pasta obsessed child to follow nine months later. Get it?

My Mum’s story is slightly less romantic, but somewhat more plausible (I mean if Venice had such an impact on my eating habits shouldn’t pigeons also be my favorite animals?). According to her, my parents went on a trip for three weeks when I was a toddler and left me with my aunt in France. The ‘problem’ apparently started when we all returned home and from this time onwards I would request Pasta every night for supper. It turned out that my French aunt had seen nothing wrong with feeding me Pasta every dinner while my parents were. I suppose it was the time of the day were I was most upset and missing my parents. Quick at hand was her solution: feed the child some Pasta. Warm. Comforting. Just like having Mami around. And I loved it. And probably realized (in an unconscious toddler mind kind of way) that the only thing better than Pasta, was Pasta made for me by my Mum.

I was a very willful child, so I would usually get my Pasta. My Mum was very quick to teach me basics in the kitchen, so she would get some quiet time.