Nice, France deserves it's name.
Within an hour of arriving I was on the beach, swimming in the French Riviera and very, very pleased. Nice is super clean, warm and colorful. It has tight, winding alley-ways around the Vielle Ville (Old Town) and a vast turquoise ocean that seems to curve over the horizon. It's really quite nice.
Took a day trip and visited the Palace of Versailles, the official residence for the Kings of France from 1682 to 1790. It's extravagant and massive to say the least, with a style that reminded me of Rebecca King's decor (lots of florals). The entire property is larger than the island of Manhattan AND modern day Paris.
Walking around the palace gets a bit boring after awhile (all gold everything, chandelier after chandelier, French royalty had some money to throw around, WE GET IT) but the gardens outside are really where it's at. You can rent boats, ride bikes, eat ice cream or just lay next to the Grand Canal and work on your tan (like I did).
Went for a run my first morning in Paris and ran into paparazzi swarming outside an Issey Miyake fashion show.
Why they didn't want to capture me in my Nike Frees and sports bra I'll never know, but I got a few phone camera shots of beautiful attendees in some killer outfits.
Paris is magic.
Paris consisted of tartines at Amelie's cafe in Montmartre, a night bike tour and cruise along the Seine, a long run through the Jardin Du Luxemborg, macaroons at the Sacre Le Coeur and living off brie and chocolate. If you eat a block of brie in the USA you feel sick, but if you do it in Paris you feel fantastic and Parisienne. It might have something to do with pasteurization but let's go with magic.
Also, if you every find yourself in Paris and don't know anyone or the language... I recommend that you go to the nearest bar that is vaguely related to the language you speak (Cafe Oz), buy a beer and pretend to watch whatever sport is on the television (soccer). Within 15 minutes you'll get asked what team you're rooting for and from there, you'll have 7 new French friends to get beers, kebabs and mojitos with. Everyone will get a good laugh when you explain that you don't give a shit about soccer. Works like a charm. See above.
After a sleepy bus ride from Oxford (I'm that jerk that takes up the whole backseat row to fully recline) I had a quick and fun 24 hours in London before taking a train to Paris.
Got more banh mi at Keu, was lured into The Bridge Lounge by the sound of blues guitar and reunited with the other kids from the hostel for our favorite past time of buying £1.50 beers and creating an outdoor patio in front of The Dictionary.
It was a nice experience to return to a city (that two weeks ago was completely foreign) and be able to easily navigate my way back to somewhere that almost felt like home and see familiar friendly faces.
Took a train from Cardiff and stopped in Oxford for a few days. Home of the oldest university in the English speaking world, it oozes a historic, academic feel with it's grandiose, ivy covered buildings.
baby rugby practice
While in Oxford, I painted my nails in Christchurch Meadow (you have to get creative when you're living in a room with 11 other people) and managed to get locked inside a downtown cafe. Long story, but for a solid hour I was trapped inside Art Cafe surrounded by baked goods and free wifi, which if you think about it, was kind of a dream come true.
Having to go to the post office, I found myself in the historic Jericho neighborhood which was originally a place for travelers to rest if they reached the city after the gates had closed. Now it has hippie book stores, cute cafe's and a stunning pottery shop, Illyria, that's owned by a lovely American with great curls.
+ Keep clicking the photo above for more shots around Jericho.
I stopped into Oxford to visit my friend George, who I also know from my time in Australia. He just finished school at Oxford and is now working as a General Manager for a brand new bar called The Chester. George is charming as hell, full of pizazz, could talk me off a cliff and is an incredible storyteller. We caught up over many pints and he told me about his life the last 5 years and his recent gigs as a VIP Host at the London and Sochi Olympics ("Nicole Kidman? Nothing to her! Looks like a praying mantis!"). He took me on a mini-bar crawl to the historical Bear Inn (oldest in Oxford, dates back to 1242), Turf Tavern (beautifully lit outdoor seating) and the bohemian Cafe Tarifa.
Oxford reminded me of the gorgeous bits of Boston College and George was an absolute delight to see again. Good couple of days.
After Worms Head, we made our way up to visit another friend from our days at Little Creatures, Osian. Osian lives deep (real deep) in the countryside of West Wales. He’s a woodsy carpenter who lives with his sweet Irish girlfriend in a charming and romantic little chalet in the absolute middle of nowhere. The closest village (25 minutes away) is Brechfa which has existed in the Cothi Valley in Carmarthenshire since the 6th century and currently has a population of 300.
Osian, Joe and myself in the countryside of Wales, 5 years after slinging pales ales in Western Australia. It's a small, nice little world sometimes.
Brechfa was opening it’s only pub, the Forest Arms for the first time in 6 years and we attended the grand opening. There are so few people in the village, that they’ve had to shut down the church and the school so they’re re-opening the pub in an effort to have a community meeting place. I’m pretty sure all 300 residents came for the opening night as the place was PACKED. Eighty-percent were over the age of 60 as well, so it was quite the crowd.
They preserved the steps outside that folks would use to mount their horses (after a quick stop at the pub) back in the day
They served Welsh ales on tap, the Welsh Men’s Choir sang and I had an absolute ball experiencing a seriously authentic night in a Welsh pub. Everyone joked that I was the only Bostonian to ever set-foot in Brechfa and I was thrilled to be there.
Driving back on the insanely narrow, dark and winding roads we listened to Willy Mason and then had a big sleep over at the chalet. In the morning, Osian broke out his carpenter tools and the boys carved a spatula. It was the most productive thing I’ve ever witnessed before 11 AM and I encouraged them while lazily enjoying my coffee.
Heading back to Cardiff, it was a gorgeous warm and clear day (very uncharacteristic of Wales) so Joe and I stopped at the Dryslwyn Castle to take in some lovely views of the expansive, green countryside. The castle has ties to Lord Rhys (a prince who reigned until 1197), changed hands between various Welsh princes (as castles tend to do) and was a fortress before falling to the English Crown in 1287. History like this makes the USA sound like pre-teen.
I quite enjoyed sitting on a castle on a Sunday morning. I'll have to make that into a regular thing.
On a little road-trip to West Wales, Joe and I stopped at Worm's Head to check out views over the massive cliffs.
Here I am psyched to be in a traffic jam in Wales. As a local, Joe was understandably less amused.
This rock-climber was killing it/is out of her goddamn mind.
It was windy and foggy (I’m told this is the general demeanor of Wales) and it was beautiful. We got a meat pie, fish and chips (from the "chippy") and enjoyed wandering amongst the sheep and the WILD HORSES.
After London, I hopped on a bus to Cardiff, Wales to visit my friend Joe. The first night was filled with authentic Welsh food (sausage and mash) and ales while watching the Scottish Independence Referendum at a bar that was celebrating the occasion. The party bit was a little premature as by the time we woke up the next day Scotland had voted against independence… but it was still a fun night with Joe and his friends teaching me necessary Welsh phrases such as:
“Fy enw I yw Rachel.” (My name is Rachel)
“Syt da chi?” (How are you?)
“Ble mae’r cwrw?” (Where’s the beer?)
This is Joe. We worked together at Little Creatures in Perth and then roamed around Melbourne together for a few months after. Now he makes marvelous videos as a Creative Lead at Fixers UK.
The following day we headed to a tiny town in the countryside and toured a coal mine called “The Big Pit” and I learned that:
a) there is not an actual enormous pit to be found there (false advertising)
b) being a coal miner seems terrible
Wales Street Style
We weren't allowed to bring cameras or phones into the 300 feet deep into the earth mine (something about magnets and safety or something) hence these exterior shots.
Wales is super lush, very green, foggy and full of sheep. We ate a late lunch at a gorgeous misty overlook and tried to trick a sheep into taking a photo with me (this was unsuccessful).
Later that night, Joe took me to a quirky little bar called Milgi where I got the most delicious cocktail of my life, the Berry Collins. I sucked that thing down like it was Gatorade after a 10K.
Not the yurt. The yurt was too exquisite to photograph.
If you ever find yourself in Cardiff… get over to Milgi, get a Berry Collins and you can drink it in the YURT they have in the back patio. A yurt! In Wales!
A cute bicycle repair-coffee shop-gallery on Hoxton Street employs two of the friendliest and helpful men I’ve ever met and they gave me detailed list of things to do around London, one of which was to visit Hampstead Heath. So, I lured Will away from the pub (he’s not an alcoholic, he’s just English) and we hopped on the Northern Line for an afternoon in the fresh air.
Hampstead Heath is massive, quiet park with giant fields and multiple ponds. You completely forget you’re still technically in London while you're there. We got sandwiches from a shop in the swank little town that surrounds the park, hunkered down for a picnic by the model boating pond and then napped in the sun. It was so, so lovely.
+ If you'd like to see a few more shots of Hampstead Heath and the surrounding town, keep clicking the last photo above.
When I lived in Australia for a year (over 5 years ago) I stayed in Melbourne for a few months and lived at the downtown Flinders Station Hostel. Over many games of doubles pool (partnered with my friends from Little Creatures, either George and Joe --- I contributed very little as I'm awful at pool) we became friends with two fun New Zealanders, Amy and Steve.
In preparation for this trip, I reached out to Amy to see if she'd be in New Zealand or in Europe when I am (she currently works as a pastry chef in Swenden) and luckily enough, it turned out we'd be in London at the same time! So, one afternoon I met up with her and her sweet Swedish boyfriend Martin for a walk around the city and a visit to the Tate Modern.
Millenium Bridge
The London Design Festival was on last week, which consisted of pop-up shops at local retailers. I explored the trail around Shoreditch and found myself wandering into beautiful shops filled with items I have no actual use for as I'm currently living out of a backpack but were lovely to peruse, nonetheless. Pitfield and Good Hood had such different but gorgeous set-ups (with built-in cafes!) I could unpack my bag and live at either quite happily (sort of like how I usually feel at Anthropologie).
Good Hood cafe
Good Hood
Pifield
This little photobook about man who lived in East London his whole life was in Pitfeld... "I'm Jewish but I go to the Christian church because the people are nice. We see movies together. Last week we saw Piranha 3D."
+ Keep clicking the photo above for more.
To be honest, every night in London was a night out but this one was a particularly good one. A mix of English, Swedish, Canadian and American folk from the hostel plus a rogue Italian (not sure where he came from) gathered and after a few pints we had made our way to a few bars and later to this massive half-outdoor-dance-club, Cargo.
This is Will. He's from Guernsey, England which he insists is a terrible place (it looks lovely if you google it) and he's trying to move to London. He's quickly become my best friend at the hostel. He talks a mile a minute and with his thick accent and English slang I can't understand half of what he's saying but what I do pick-up is an absolute riot. He gets very protective when we go out and I talk to strangers even though up until 4 days ago, he was a stranger. He's a good one.
The cover charge at Cargo was steep (£20 and the USD exchange rate is brutal currently) but it was well worth it. A great night out.
Between Jack The Ripper murder sites and Indian food restaurants, the East End was filled with great street art.
+ Keep clicking the last photo for a few more.
Went on a walking tour of London's East End. Gritty and colorful, it's full of history and great shopping.
Rough Trade on Brick Lane
After getting some much needed sunglasses (it hasn't rained once yet!) at the vintage markets, I stopped into Rough Trade and had a nice listen to the Adult Jazz record in the listening booth.
FUN FACT OF THE TOUR: back in the day, London was filthy and gin was cleaner and cheaper to get than drinking water (and kept folks warm during the Great Winter of 1739). The gin they were making was super strong (80% or 160 proof, today it's 40%) and it was usually cut with other cheap toxins, so it often straight-up killed people or put them in a coma. The coma-ridden would be declared dead after 3 days but would sometimes wake-up later, buried alive and banging on the coffin. They started burying people in "safety coffins" that had a bell in them that the buried alive could ring to alarm cemetery night-watchman to save them. Hence, we have gin (and not Zack Morris) to thank for the phrase "saved by the bell".
