Suism

A small dose of culture shock

Coming from the great IAMsterdam and being a self-professed pun addict, I have to confess I am always more than mildly excited to see what delightful slogans city’s have chosen to depict their culture. I <3 NY, LondON and the “Poor but sexy” Berlin make all these cities even cooler to me, even if that makes me decidedly less cool to you.

What then, I wondered, could Instanbul have in store for me. I was predicting something Aladdin chique with a twist of modernity (probably a terrifying insight to how I waste spend my time and imagination).  However, cramped into our tiny seats on Turkish Airlines and discovering that they had just won “Best Airline in Europe” did make me slightly dubious of any further self-proclaimed title. But upon arrival “IstanCOOL” did seem to match the reports I had heard from all previous visitors.

Eagerly I awaited a visa (easily obtained if you were European and willing to hand over 15 bucks- check and check!) and then endured the long line through passport control, followed by an endless search for the metro which took an hour longer than anticipated. But then the glorious and impossibly big Blue Mosque and  Hagia Sofia loomed up above us, the squares were almost empty and a comfortable 25 degrees settled down on our shoulders.

This was the apt beginning of a trip of extreme ups and downs.

The beauty of Hagia Sofia was diminished by punishing queues in the hot sun and her faded beauty seems as if it won’t last forever with the once luminescent mosaics now mostly replaced by painted versions of its former glories. But the beauty and sheer enormity will still take your breath away. The overpriced beer is soon forgotten as swallows dip and glide to the sounds of the haunting call-to-prayer and time seems to stand still. The vibrant boats bobbing on the Bosphorous are counteracted by pollution and wafts of fish, and the delight of watching hundreds of fishermen pulling up the fish before your eyes is slightly off putting when considering it will probably make up your dinner that night.

We ate the best food in tucked away gems and the worst food when caught in a tourist trap with growling bellies and tired feet. We single-handedly kept the economy afloat by purchasing a tonne of over-sweet baklava and Turkish delight. Each bite, more delicious than the last, left our tummies crawling with regret. Everywhere was a contradiction.

There we were nestled in a comfortable meyhane admiring the decor and the next moment the barmen are jumping over the bar slamming down windows and shutters against the tear gas which seeped into our nostrils and choked our lungs. We’d somehow ended up in a protest. “Welcome to Turkey” muttered a man behind us.

The city of 2 continents didn’t seem to know which way it was turning. Or perhaps it was just moving so damned fast we got churned up in the current.

We delighted in our bargaining skills but the vendors always seemed to come out on top. 

I saw the largest diamond I will probably ever see in a surprisingly run-down palace. It was beautiful. 

We were pushed and pulled to the point of exasperation, but the whole time we were laughing. I hadn’t expected such an enormous sense of humour as the one I found behind carts, in trams and on the streets.

Ultimately we were reluctant to leave this exciting city, this old city, this knocked about, tourist filled, loud and beautiful city. Like a diamond in the rough polished with only steel wool I felt like I’d seen glimpses of what Istanbul could be, but know that there’s oh so much more.

Go to Istanbul, experience this city. But be prepared, it’s much more “I-stumble” than IstanCOOL.

No Bul

I’m about to embark on a brief adventure to the city where east meets west. Somewhere I never really though about until rumours started to drift to me on a waft of spicy air about amazing markets, delicious food (dips people, DIPS!- I really love dips) incredible architecture and warmth which lingers in streets long after the gold sun has set across the Bosphorus.

Yep, Istanbul looms on the horizon and needless to say I’m excited about this for a multitude of reasons. The top three are listed below:

Firstly, it’s somewhere Easyjet doesn’t fly to! Now don’t get me wrong I love that I can pop over to London and Berlin every year if I like and have undoubtedly taken advantage of booking tickets to Prague 6 months in advance for a mere 40 bucks (yes, yes I know it’s euros really). But as one likes to envisage one’s self as an intrepid traveller, and let’s be honest we all think that 30 years ago it would have been us founding Lonely Planet, Easyjet tickets just don’t sit right with the image. It’s hard to feel you’re about to venture off the beaten track when you’re pushing grannies and young children out of the way to get “prime” seats near the exit. Or when you pray that the already/still drunk football team won’t be seated near enough to projectile vomit on you. So yes we’re still flying with Turkish Airlines which is a far cry from that combi van adventure across Europe we all dream of, but it’s a hell of a step in the right direction off the usual Euro track.

Secondly, I’m finally going to get a new stamp in my passport! For someone who has travelled to 18 countries I have disturbingly few stamps in ye old passport! I still remember my disappointment on arriving in Greece and handing over my passport expectantly and then actually requesting a stamp when they just looked at it and handed it back. Ok that makes me blush now, but as a dual citizen I’m afraid I can only boast 1 stamp in each passport! The joy that my parents passports gave me as a child filled with exotic and elaborate stamps in different languages (after I had finished marvelling at the sheer amount of beard my dad had in the 70s) is something I won’t be able to replicate should I ever have kids (not just because I don’t have a beard …yet)

The last point, and of course the real source of excitement, lies in exploring a city I know almost nothing about. I’ve never read up on the history, mosques and markets of Istanbul. I don’t know where to go, what to try or how it will feel. I am completely free from expectation. I know about 5 people who have been there and all say it’s fabulous and the public transport is surprisingly good (ok so I have one expectation). But I don’t know if the people are friendly, the street are clean or how to order a raki (probably rookie error number one). Nor do I have much inclination to read up to much on it. As I approach my 30s I realise these cities I see now I will probably never see again. But rather than madly trying to create bucket lists I’m ready to be swept away by Istanbul and whatever he has planned for me!

(editors note: I’m sitting here due to my usual 6am excitement before anything great happens, brushing up on all things Istanbul- more excited than ever! Photos to follow.)

Oh to be home… (where is that again?)

This blog, much like my life, has taken a turn of it’s own. Originally intended as a motivation to produce more art, it has become the artwork itself.

My journey to the Netherlands had a specific purpose too. To marry the man I loved at the time. When that quickly didn’t work out, the Neds had already captured my heart. And then I stayed. And then I fell truly, madly deeply in love. And we bought a house (well, ok, an apartment if you must split hairs, but house just sounds much more romantic I think).

But just as it is important for me to remember the roots of my passion for art and stay connected to it (hard to do amidst life sometimes), it’s equally important for me to recognise my roots back where I came from. I am not running from anything in Australia. In fact being away from my beloved homeland is the hardest day to day thing I have to deal with. My life has taken a path of its own and I don’t regret the adventure it has given me (or that I have perhaps chosen). However, needless to say, trips home (which only happen once every two years) make my heart leap up- in the words of that old romantic Wordsworth.

After the gloomiest of winters how could I not fall in love again with the endless blue. And even better, when the sun sets the warmth stays. The feeling of a cosy darkness and impenetrable freedom which wraps around you as cicadas chirp and scent of eucalypt wafts down from the high silver branches above is sublimity itself.

Love. That’s what its all about right? The feeling of my soulmate sister being in the same house, always ready for kind words, gently hugs and knowing laughs, is an experience I treasure after living in different countries for almost 10 years. Not to mention feeling the love of my many dedicated friends, who still support me despite the miles of ocean which separate us.

And let’s not even mention the foodie culture which abounds. Freshly and perfectly made coffee every morning from the Butchers cafe, salted caramel cupcakes from Sparkle and pulled pork burgers from the Shakey in Surrey Hills (that’s The Shakespeare Hotels for non-locals).  Soup dumplings to make your mouth water and spicy Thai to make you cry. Endless laughs and chats during happy hours at the Beresford and gourmet dining at Hugos…

And then there was my amazing parents and my dear Grandma who have made me who I am. And are remarkably proud of who I have become. Gotta love that!

Wordsworth may have been beholding rainbows and daffodils, but the golden beaches and sunny skies of the great southern land will have my heart forever. As I return home from my return home, I am incredibly sad and homesick. It is what it is. But this crazy life of mine no doubt has plenty of surprises in store. All I have to do is open the door to them. I guess that’s the secret to an adventurous life, no matter where you live.

I love you Australia!

No, I don’t have any regrets (about Paris)

As someone who constantly is seeking new places and feels like they will never see and do as much as they would like because life is just too damned short, I try as hard as I can to use every travelling penny and second I have on seeing new places and discovering new things. 

Except when it come to Paris.

My Paris, the stuff my dreams have been made of ever since I can remember.

On my fifth trip just gone I discovered Rue Mouffetard. A foodie’s haven of roasting chickens, wine shops, fresh produce. Pineapples in little baskets I tell you- those French know their food!

I discovered that travelling with girlfriends in Paris is absolutely delightful as we sipped cocktails at the Experimental Cocktail Club.

I discovered that it’s totally fun to sit in the same place as Owen Wilson in Midnight in Paris and wait to be whisked away to the 1920s.

I discovered that I had come far enough in my life to be able to afford an extortionately expensive glass of red wine served by models in Le Georges on top of the Pompidou Centre.

But mostly I discovered that you can’t have to much time in brasseries, boulangeries and bars in Paris. You can’t eat too many Oysters, drink to much red wine or take too long to decide which cake will make you utterly and entirely complete.

Only in Paris will you delivered a red rose by a handsome stranger.

Only in Paris will you feel alive and in a dream at the same time.

Only in Paris can you say with conviction, ” Non, je ne regrette rien…”

Love

For most people I think the jury is still out on romance. Love is only “in” with those in love. And Valentine’s Day is unquestionably devoid of charm.

I can’t say my opinion is fixedly positive on any of the above- unless I’m watching Midnight in Paris (which I am) or reading Austen (which I just finished) or looking at Monet (which I do as often as I can).

But as I woke up alone, the man is suffering from jetlag and went into the office early, I felt happy but nothing extrodinary. I worked and then worked out. So far the mundane routine of life. I unlocked my bike as quickly as my frozen hands would allow beside a snowy canal. And I was captured by romance for a few moments in the softly lit reflection of a yellow street light. I was the third in a vignette of a young woman in pyjamas looking down from her balcony upon a young man holding the biggest bunch of red roses I have ever seen.

They both looked so happy. And I realised that whether you are in or out or in between love- love is love and that is something.

Paris… proof clichés exist for a reason

Something nice!

The most amazing thing happened to me today. Perhaps some back ground is necessary before I divulge what it was. I was raised with the standard idioms: do unto others etc, if you don’t have anything nice to say… blah blah blah you know how they all go. Cliches? Yes, but these things stick. Now, I don’t know if this was something I was raised with, but I truly believe that if you think something nice about someone you should say it. And you should say it as often as you think it. After all, there’s almost no chance someone won’t like it and a very big chance that they will like it very much.

The world to me is not an easy place so why not make it as pleasant as possible?

Unfortunately my boyfriend is more of the “you know I love you so I don’t have to say it all the time” variety. I have no idea if this is cultural or personal. But I of course love him either way. I do find it hard though, having come from such a vocal family.

I do think it is a touch cultural however, most 20 something girls upon arriving and living in the Netherlands will notice 2 things. The men are hot, but they’ll never tell you you are! For the most part, I like this- I don’t go out looking for validation and there rarely awkward moments of unwanted attention. I can walk high amongst the proudest of women. I don’t need compliments. I don’t need them, but boy are they nice to receive.

So today it was a complete surprise that after enjoying an afternoon at the Concert Gebouw (Opera House) watching the Philharmonic Orchestra, a complete stranger tapped me on the shoulder to tell me he thought my hair was beautiful, that I was beautiful. It was not sleazy or strange. He was there with his parents and they were all smiling at me. And then they walked away. No expectations, no pretences, just a really nice compliment. From a nice person. That made my day.

So tell someone next time you like something about them- it will make the world a better place.

Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but I’m taking the compliment anyway! 

Words, where are you?

It’s the question every blogger probably asks every now and then. Is this it? Am I done? Have my words run out?

To be honest I don’t even know where my words come from. From my first ever story at 4 (about a caterpillar) to the present day words have always been my thing. Don’t read “my talent” here- I have friends who write such hilarious and clever things, it’s easy to stay humble. But words were the things that could wrap me up when the world was too much to deal with, to protect and comfort me.

It would drive my sister nuts when she wanted to play and I wanted to lie sidewise on my bed and read, no matter how much she tickled or begged me in turn.

Teenage years filled with pages and pages of diary ramblings. Probably filled with dreams alternating in subject between boy crushes and being the first female president of Australia (tough choice I know). Luckily these were burnt in a ritualistic ceremony as I hit my 20s.

Fresh Sunday mornings in my Sydney days, which could sometimes bring anxiety, also brought a great combatant in the form of a Sunday paper. Filled with news, gossip and crosswords, all to be enjoyed with the sun on my back and a hot coffee in my hand.

An arrogance at uni, I never had to try too hard to churn out essay after essay. And my head was filled with ideas and brilliance from all sorts of books and articles.

And now words are failing me. When I need them most. I blame Geordie Shore.

2013 resolutions, or lack there of…

It has not been the easiest start to the year. After major partying (which by the way was amazing) I got struck down by this norovirus or as I like to call it: I-will-make-you-lose-the-will-to-livirus. It been 4 days of having every ounce of energy sucked (or expelled) out of me and it’s made me do the thinking that a new year inevitably brings. What do I want for 2013, what do I want for me?

There’s so much going on in life… as always. The trip to Australia and my sister’s wedding feature most prominently and occupy much of my downtime thoughts. But what about the rest? It always brings up the thoughts about what I am doing here. Why am I on this path and can or should I change anything etc. Exhausting, especially when your self power has been set to zero. But then I think back to a wonderful conversation I had with one of my favourite people about new year’s resolutions. She told me she never sets resolutions, but always tries to be healthy, move more and be happy.

So here’s the things which made me happy this last week through a haze of illness and uncertainty. I hope these things will see me through another exciting year in Amsterdam!

My home in Spaarndammerbuurt, Amsterdam! I know humility is great and all; but my man and I just cannot stop congratulating ourselves on managing to find a home exactly where we want to be.

And part of owning a home includes buying stuff for the home including small pleasures like a piping bag. Which helps me create little bites of happiness such as these. 

Chocolate always = happiness!

Discovering little kooky treasures which may not be everyone’s cup of tea but makes me remember who “me” is all about. I’m also loving coming to discover what each other’s tastes are. Even if they are sometimes very, very different.

Fresh flowers from the man and fairy lights from Thailand travels (circa 2012)- need I say more?!

So I guess if we’re making resolutions I will make a little one to focus on the little, beautiful things and fill my little Amsterdam life with as many as possible!

Today Christmas is…

Home-made lemon meringue pie and Irish coffee! I have never been so proud of a desert. The outcome of 3 hours of slaving over buttery pastry, rich lemon curd and fluffy meringue was well worth the effort.

It is also a day for Christmas markets, DIY, and lazing on the couch watching Mission Impossible.

I love Christmas!

I carry it in my heart

Christmas for many, I believe, gets harder as you get older. It all begins with finding out that Santa isn’t real and the ability to hang onto magic becomes more tenuous as you face a stumbling economy, the-where-to-spend-Christmas debate or the why-am-I-alone-at-Christmas trauma?

None of this reflects how I feel whatsoever. Many of my friends struggle with the foreign customs of a different culture, which sometimes feels so the same and yet so different. But for me this makes no difference, as for me Christmas is so in my heart. I don’t know if it was planted there by my somewhat traditional British mother or I was born with it. But, whatever it is it’s irrepressible.

Going home for Christmas has been an option for me only once in the last 7 years (sorry Mum if this makes you cry). And everyone duly sympathises with me. It sucks, yes, but ruin Christmas- NEVER! (I may or may not have cried actual tears of happiness when I was in the Christmas markets in Cologne last weekend. Look at these pictures, is your Christmas heart made of stone?)

I love the Aussie Christmas- yes it’s true we barbecue and beach all day long and it’s fabulous. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Bondi Beach packed with girls in bikinis wearing thongs (flip-flops) and a Santa hat. But I equally love the snow, the ice-skating and the downright gorgeousness of fairy-lit boats along the canals.

Here’s some things which always fill me with European-Christmas cheer!

Gluhwijn- the nector of the gods, I kid you not! An extra shot of schuss (rum) had my great friend and I warm and very happy as we perused the German Christmas markets.

Christmas trees- look how pretty he is! Not to mention our xmas deer!

My man- without fail on the boxing day (2nd Christmas day for you Dutchies) we lock ourselves in with Christmas movies and really good food. It is, for me, heavenly!

Shopping- I love that Christmas carols go on 2 months before Christmas. I’m sorry but it’s true.

12 pubs of Christmas- A great Irish tradition which is carried on by my favourite Irish gals. Great friends, great costumes and a lot of weird looks in cramped Dutch brown bars!

Happy Christmas to all of you and thank-you for making this year full of love and joy. I carry you in my heart…