A Kitty and a Kite Festival

I woke up to find a soft white kitty in the lounge. I named her Snow Belle. She followed my flatmates home last night. No collar. She was still there in the morning sitting on the back steps so we let her back inside and played with her. She’s outside again now, but I hope she wants to come back. She was nice and fluffy.
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This afternoon, I met C in Victoria for the train ride to Streatham Common where we went to a kite festival. Wellies, kites and tea under gray London skies, umbrellas, smiles, pretty colours and a bit of rain. Not to mention the giant purple octopus.
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Abercrombie in London vs NY

There are certain moments in life that call for a bit of retail therapy. And so I've indulged. New spring coat, the obligatory sexy red break up dress, shoes, a few choice CDs. I've developed a slight infatuation with Amy McDonald.
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Amy MacDonald. This is the Life
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And even though our break up has been amicable and our friendship has blossomed from it, it never hurts to have your photo taken with a sexy shirtless Abercrombie model either.

There's been movie nights, pub night, coffee dates with the girls and a bit of excitement for whatever decides to come by next.

But back to this Abercrombie boy.

At home, Abercrombie has models outside the shops, but there's never people offering to take your photo with them with a Polaroid camera. And while there is loud music, there's never a clubbing atmosphere with pretty people dancing on top of balconies like there is in the new London branch on Savile Row.

Maybe that's why the same pair of Emma low rise jeans I was wearing were selling for DOUBLE what I paid for them in New York. Ridiculous. You also can't access the US Abercrombie site from a UK computer which is interesting indeed. Probably to prevent people from comparing prices. At any rate, I wasn't about to buy anything as the selection here isn't even as good as our small shop back home. However, the model boy out front... I approve!

A Small Moment

Is it possible to steal happiness?
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Reading The Book Thief on the bus home, I came across that question.
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I’d imagine it is possible, but I think the best sort of happiness is shared, not stolen. I also think the best happiness comes from the moments that anyone can have if they open their eyes to them.
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Walking home in the fading daylight, under silver clouds, it began to rain.
It was warm sprinkling rain, the type that makes you linger instead of walk faster. The kind of rain you welcome to patter against your skin.
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In my hands, I carried a pot of African Violets with silver and fuchsia petals. Velvet, a tickling of tiny hairs running over the leaves.
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There is freshness in the extra hour of day now, in the air that holds the light for you just until you reach your doorstep.
It’s this last hour of light I hold onto like a gift, a chance to breathe in the tease of long summer nights.
An hour for slow walks home.
An hour for peaceful happiness.

Budapest Birthday Trip

For my birthday in December, S bought me tickets for a trip to Budapest over Easter weekend. Since then, life has been a bit chaotic - visitors, house broken into, you know, the usual...but here we go:

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Friday
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After exchanging my £100 for 30,000 forint and a two hour flight, we rode through the streets of Budapest in a taxi, staring out the window trying let the Budapest-ness saturate our memories. The first thing I noticed: colorful buildings, the deep yellows and orange cement. Architecture was a main focus last weekend, the intricately carved buildings, the paintings and frescos, the towers and dilapidated old homes that fall back to the Communism era. It was gorgeous in a washed out, well-worn, cultured sort of way. Since joining the EU, it has also become a juxtaposition of old and new. Next to the crumbling cathedrals, there were Burger Kings and H&M. It was still early when we checked into the Atlas hotel with a private Jacuzzi and a beautiful room.
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We stopped in an underground tunnel to order gelato and communicate in simple English with a Hungarian woman who scooped different colors while her young daughter stared at us and wrapped napkins around the cones. Budapest was nearly eerily quiet, perhaps because it was Easter weekend, but most shops were closed and there were not so many pubs to sit inside and while away the hours. And so we wandered. Which was fine.
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After dwelling in the warmth of an empty Irish pub for a while, we ventured along the Danube River, freezing, past the massive structure of the parliament building and over the famous chain bridge. The sun set over the water and the view from the top of the hills we climbed was immaculate.
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We ate dinner in a cave restaurant called Marquis de Sade. The man himself was a French aristocrat and revolutionary, a man who wrote pornography that was often violent yet laden with philosophy. Pursuit of pleasure was his highest principle and he spent 32 years of his life in an insane asylum. And while there was no pornography in the restaurant there was a great deal of pleasure.
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The menu was a mix of Azerbaijani, Russian and Hungarian food, served to us while we sat on couches under crumbling tunnel walls, a candle lit beside us. I ordered a soup with lamb filled dumplings, a pot of tea and a chicken dish topped with apricots, prunes, raisins and a Tojaki wine sauce famous in Budapest. I brought a bottle of the sweet dessert wine home. It was served with salad and sticky rice.
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Saturday
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After two hours of searching unsuccessfully for the weekend flea market that was supposed to sell a mix of Soviet antiques, clothing and rock and roll records, we decided on lunch. Well, breakfast really as we hadn’t eaten yet. And it would be 6pm before we put anything into our growling stomachs.
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We got distracted by the transport museum.
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By a giant time wheel that sat on rollers and was rotated 180 degrees manually every year, sand dripping down the hour glass, a reminder that time is slipping through the cracks.
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By a castle and table tennis in the middle of a park.
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By mad elephants swaying from side to side behind bars.
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By a gigantic bath house.
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By Hero’s Square and art museums and a museum of terror.
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And finally, we came to a small market where we bought slices of something like pizza baked in a round wobbly oven by a large man with giant oven gloves.
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By a giant pillow fight.
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By Vaci Utca, a famous street of shops and bars and then we came to another market, a large open space with wooden stands, mulled wine, a gypsy band and a lot of meat. We shared langos, something like fried dough smothered in sour cream and cheese. Beautiful and traditional. A wine cave next. We shared an octopus salad.
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And then to a place down a small alley called 1,000 teas. They really did serve 1,000 teas. We each got a pot. I got a spicy chai from somewhere in Africa and S ordered a smooth green tea that I ended up buying in loose leaf form to bring home. There were small wicker chairs and carved tables with glass on top, or places to sit on cushions. No shoes allowed. On the walk back to our hotel, we ran into a wine festival, bought some tickets, got some free shots and bought another bottle of wine for the hotel and some huge pretzels.
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Sunday
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Sunday, we had just a few hours. The sun was shining. The streets were empty. Everything was closed. At 9, we woke up and had buffet breakfast in the hotel lobby, checked out and left our bags in a small room.
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In total, I only spent £100 all weekend and these last few hours were about using up the remainder of our forint change. And so we wandered again down Vaci Utca, bought some souvineers, some bottles of Unicum, the famous drink in the area, then around the market stalls once more.
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I bought bits of creamy chicken and mushroom in a hard round roll similar to chicken stew in a bread bowl from Tim Hortons. Delicious.
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And too soon, it was time to drag our bags through the airport, be transported back to London by Malev airlines who gave us little chocolate buttons that said Happy Easter.
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A Crazy Week

Tuesday night: Dinner at awesome Italian joint on Old Compton Street in Soho called Amalfi. Met up with long-lost friends, drank excellent wine and even fit dessert without having to roll out the door.

Wednesday night: D, man of connections, scored free tickets to see a preview of Jersey Boys in the West End. Story about Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons. Good for a few laughs. The Spice of Life pub and a glass of wine to follow.

Thursday night: Bookshops, CD shops, an excellent spinach and cheese crepe and good conversation with S. Following the shops, a Spanish pub and a pub decorated with large gothic chairs and old chemistry sets. Special mention to Tea Pigs, where they have mesh teabags to accomodate the large bits of leaves and flowers that diffuse their flavours into the tea. Had peppermint, intend to return to try chocolate and stearing clear of the popcorn flavour.

Friday night: Relaxation and freelance catch up.

Saturday: Banksy tour around East London. Pictures later, perhaps.

On a side note: Love my job now. Working with distance learners all around the world, I have met some absolutely amazing and inspiring people from all cultures.