Camomile with soy

Sipping sweetly in Starbucks, sagely assessing the safety in numbers.
Reminiscing on relocation remains, crumbly Rationalizations, misinterpretations, the elations of the patrons reassuring over tea.


It's raining in Athens and I sort of like it.
The locals look disgruntled in hats that cap down their wild curls.
We're kin. They think I look Greek, I would if I wasn't gold.

Reminds me of springtime.
Meatmarket yesterday, wine on the rooftop bar, carnivale treats.

"Anne was just

so comfortable! So fun to watch.
The gowns were spectacular!! I almost spilled my black russian all over my favorite chair.

What adventures did you have this week? Weekend? Fill a sister in.

xoxo"


- A good friend, requesting updates like good friends do.
Because I still can't upload photos, this is more or less how I responded.

"I did London, then I did London with a friend, and we had the best, gayest day ever.
I went and got my hair done (dirty blonde wassup) and then we got chinese food and then we went and saw Chicago, and then went out to get drinks but they were closing early so we went to the Blue Onion across the street, which turned out to be a raging gay club which I absolutely adored and the poor Irish boy I was with tolerated, and so we drank and danced and made it in time for Porn Idol, where a bunch of gays alighted the stage and stripped to music in competition.

Then scotland, then sweet english girls and I went out to clubs, then I felt sick and nursed myself with tons of tea and went glasgow and shopped and went to Paisley where my great grandpa is from.
So I wandered with my camera and found the most gorgeous hilly green crescent hill, and shuffled to the top and talked to a friendly beardy man who walked me around the city with his dog Heidi.
He told me all about things and it felt good getting in touch with my roots, just a little.

Then London pt II and another wonderful day where I found a cute smoothie place and cute British boys (studying 'maths') and ended up in chinatown again and got a Chinese deep tissue massage, and the sweetest most inoffensive looking Asian lady just pummelled my back for half an hour but it felt great after.
Then I made dinner with hostelers and made friends with sweet gay finnish boy.

Now greece! Now greece."

Luscious advice

Went to buy face moisturizer, lip scrub balm and solid perfume at Lush
and the sweet Scottish boy pleasantly chatted with me over my debit card
And I told him I liked Scotland, in fact my great grandpa was from Paisley,
And he squeals "ooh! I'm from there!"
So cute.
So now I'm armed with local places from a scottish native
Scribbled on the back of a reciept
Off to find roots!!

Xoxoxoxo

just touched down

On Lond

"34 Ride the DLR from the front

Push the kids out the way and pretend you’re the driver. Because kids can’t drive trains.
www.tfl.gov.uk/dlr

35 Take a dip on the Heath
For those who like their swimming bracing.
Hampstead Heath Ponds, Hampstead Heath, NW5 (020 7485 4491). Hampstead tube/Hampstead Heath rail. "

11th hour

Teetering in Bratislava.

I adored Budapest. It's gorgeous, and I wound up involved in some serious dramz at the most dysfunctional hostel in the world. It's absolutely enthralling, the staff are comprised of lazy foreigners and charming English speakers, all deeply in love or loathing with one another. It's not formal in the least, in fact one feels like an intimate participant.

I went to Gellert Baths and hated it at first because the little Hungarians are not big on customer service, and I was a nervous American teenager worrying about nakedness and spa ettiquette. But, as I glided to a corner in the heated thermal pool, at something like 36C (feels like a nice bath), tugging at my black swimsuit and trying to look natural, I realized that almost every single woman there (single-sex section) was just as self-conscious about her body. From that point on it was fascinating to watch, the locals slumped appreciately into the saunas while the tourists pecked nervously. Personally, I delight in breathing the chamomile musked air in 80C dry saunas and then scurrying out to dip in the freezing 16C pool.

Then I got a full body massage, and they aren't joking when they say full body. The man asked me in French if it was okay that he was a man. I told him it's fine, feeling somewhat liberated by the fumes and the skylights and tiled ceilings. He was lovely and professional, and gave me a gay man's gay wink after I Merci Beacoup'd him.

We went out last night, Jake and I, went to the sister hostel and pre-gamed and they were drawing on eachother with these special pens that changed ink color when different types of liquids were smeared over the tattoos. We splashed eachother with wine and water and the occasional tongue. We went out to a grundgy bar (reminiscent of Berlin !) and danced to some dub step until it was much too early in the morning. We walked home and I bought a drunk Austrian chap some food.

I haven't fallen asleep since then. I did manage some very unpretty (head lolling) napping on the bus ride over here, but now it's nearly 4pm and my breakfast/meal of pears and cheese has just enough substance to keep me going. The man who sat next to me on the bus originates from Peru but is staying here for work. I'm not sure if I would have managed to find my hostel without his mannerly assistance. People are too good to me.

I am at odds with my sleeping patterns. Some nights a girl has better things to do than sleep, but the truth is, my relationship with slumber is quite co-dependent, I will always fall victim to its eventual seduction. So I'll sleep extra, maybe 16 hours in a total day, or 14 hours in a single night.

I am incredibly lucky, I'm leading such a charmed life, I'm plied with wine and sometimes speak lines straight from some indie coming-of-age film. I relaxed in a private room, chattering with a new friend for innumerable hours, watching the snow sift itself into the hostel courtyard, buoyed with elegance by the lace curtians screening my view, letting my hair grow more distressed with the drying of the much-needed heater. I make eye contact with the sarcastic British and brush away claims of being tall by the height-impaired Europeans.

ITALIA

first impression of Capri.

We rode the rickety old lift up in order to escape from some grumpy Italian natives who were after us after we defiled some building.

Carnivale for the kids. Little princesses dotting the horizon. We ate gelato right after this and watched street performers doing roller skating athletics.

The waiter in this cafe loved us. My hand recieved at least three waiterkisses. They were around the corner from our hostel, and they'd let us in at night, order a midnight snack, teach us Italiano, and give us leftover umbrellas.

A tree growing on a roof in Florence.

On the way back from capri, my blue cheetah.

Stealing oranges and lemons from the labrynthy ghosttown, eating riceballs on church steps, following our guardian angel dog being.

Else

Right now, in a pink hostel, run by Fabio and his flamboyant boyfriend, who loves to do hair. My hair is finally finally straight! But I will bathe soon in the bath with jets.

Can I even begin to summarize the last weeks?

We found a secret jazz club in Roma, brimming with hip youngsters and oldsters and cheap wine and excellent music.

We stole oranges and lemons on the island of Capri.

We at marvelous rolls of rice and cheese, and then fish, and gelato and had picnics of mozzarella and tomato and bread, an we dined on the Spanish steps while the onlookers whisked jealously by.

We were waylaid by the friendly hostel owner and took the next train - so what else to do but go on the roof terrace and crawl through construction onto neighborly rooftops in the sketchy Neapolitan neighborhood in search of momentary sunlight.

What else to do but use newly umbrellas to mimic
Singing in The Rain dances.

What else but to flutter from car to car to avoid the sketchy characters on our night train.

What else but recieve free roses from an Indian rose handler.

What else but stay up all night to watch the sun rise over the colosseum only to discover that my camera is dead when I get there, so I inhale the cigarette smoke and face into the orangey mist, observing the sellers scuttle for space and eating a fresh Clementine.

What else but to find a book store and purchase Sex Lounge for 1 euro, much to the disapproval of the gray haired lady stroking her little dog.

What else but to spend the day trying to ignore Shy Boy while sleeping the nauseousness off in the hotel lounge.

5:59 AM

The best post I can muster -



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