My Final Fortnight

Two weeks from tomorrow, I will be on a plane back to Manhattan for the last time. Though I'm technically going 'home," I feel I am going to experience quite a bit of culture shock and be slightly out of the loop in my own city at first.

While I don't want to go - I am glad that I am returning in time for my favorite season, Autumn. I say autumn because that is what the British say. Autumn always brings so many wonderful and exciting new things in so many aspects...and my relocation is just one of them. 

TV show premieres are a highlight of the fall when the long summer of reruns finally comes to an end. I'm eagerly awaiting the return of Revenge, Modern Family, and as shameful as it is to admit it - Gossip Girl. As my friend here says, "I mainly just watch it for the outfits and restaurant ideas." 

Agreed.

Downton Abbey has already kicked off here - though it won't be premiering in America until January! So I will get half way through Season 3 before I'm uprooted and forced to wait months to find out what's happening at Downton.

In the music world, Green Day's new album Uno is out! I am an unlikely Green Day fan, but a fan none-the-less. All day at work today I listened to American Idiot, hand on the volume key to mute quickly before the swear words which were not office appropriate. I'm excited to have some new music for the treadmill... which I've started running on for the first time in years. 

In the area of culinary arts - Pumpkin is returning to menus. Pumpkin ice creams, smoothies, breads, muffins, lattes, donuts, soups, cream cheeses, seeds.... MmmMmmMmm. Pumpkin carving is a fall must for me, so I have already put some thought into what this years design will be - and it should come as no surprise that I'm thinking Union Jack.

But perhaps September's most exciting development.....JK Rowling's new novel, "The Casual Vacancy" came out today!! I of course already grabbed a copy today on my lunch break. 

I'm hoping I will be able to resist reading it cover to cover in one night like I did with the first 4 HP books. I'd like it to help me get through my upcoming oveseas flight . I can't say I'm sorry that this will be my last time spending 8 hours on a plane for while, or going through airport security and immigration. I'm rather sick of being interrogated every time I go in and out of the UK. The last time I came in they looked at my accumulation of stamps from the past 3 months and questioned if I am actually still employed by my sponsor company. 

"Well when do you work," the officer asked flipping through my passport pages.

HA!

As little as possible...

Everyday I am growing more and more sad about leaving the lovely United Kingdom. 

In the past week just normal dialogue between colleagues at the office often causes sharp pains in my heart... and I have to stop inappropriate responses from coming out of my mouth. 

"Hello love! How is everything - alright?" 

Would you consider marrying me in the next two weeks?

"Would anyone like a mini-a-chure scone and jam?"

May I take 7? I won't be able to get these soon.

"Right - I'm popping out for tea. Would you like anything?"

A British passport, please. Can you get me one of those at the cafe?

One of my best friends, who coincidentally is taking over my position at the office, arrives this weekend which is going to bring whole new life to this city and make me love it even more I fear. Having yet another pal to conquer the city with is only going to further endear it to me. And my flatmates are getting very clingy. I brought home moving boxes today and when my one roomie saw them she shrieked - "NOOOO!!"

I haven't actually gotten around to packing anything yet of course, because I am such a proctastinator. I also just can't be bothered spending my time with packing peanuts in my flat when there are so many other things I could be doing.

Like yesterday -  I had a meeting that took me to Harrods, so I naturally planned it for the end of the day so I could wander around afterwards. Despite what one would think - I don't spend that much time in there, and hadn't really explored every floor and room before, since the place is a maze of luxury. 

Of course my sugar-coated self started off my lustfull stroll through Harrods in the Food Halls, where the sweets literally sparkle and shine.

The new Toy Kingdom was perhaps even more wonderful than the bakery. A 3 year old's (or 23 year olds) paradise, stocked will frilly dress-up costumes, towers of stuffed animals, human-sized legos, and a "big top" circus tent inside. 

I spent a good chunk of time in the Pet Boutique, admiring the puppies, the designer doggie digs, and jewel encrusted water bowls.

But the Shoe Boudoir is where my jaw dropped. A small, dark-lit, dark-wood room that is so chic and so glam, that simply entering into it makes you feel as expensive as the price tags on the Louboutins. 

I was meant to go to the gym before meeting a friend for dinner, but I realized I was doing quite a bit of walking and I felt with my time running out, it was more important to spend it in Harrods than in SoHo gyms. So after doing my cardio by walking 5 floors of Harrods inside out, I went to meet a friend at Muriel's Kitchen in South Kensington, an amazing oasis of healthy entrees and not so healthy desserts.

We worked on planning out our final days together over butternut squash hummus and berry cheesecake: fitting in all the restaurants we still need to try, exhibits we want to visit, and places we need to go to dancing. I have a lot to do in the next two weeks.

In traditional me fashion, I'm planning about 7 different "leaving-dos," here in London and then a "welcome-home-do" or two once I'm back in New York. I like to over-celebrate events. One party is never enough. Neither is one cake. 

I don't know that comings and goings are typically events that involve cake - but they are in my book.

Most events involve cake in my book though. 

 

So the true countdown begins tomorrow. Two weeks left in the UK, a fortnight - if you will.

I cannot believe it has already been almost 1 year since I moved here. And I cannot believe that I honestly mean it when I say that if I could stay another year, I would in a heartbeat.

 

Back to School

I've packed and boxed all my summer clothes and sandals. Fall is here. Out come the layers and the black, opaque tights. I started off the week in a very back-to-schoolish ensemble, which I put together after watching Clueless again for the first time in years.

The summer mentality of early days and Pimms o'clock is over as well. Today was my 9th consecutive day of work.... and it's starting to affect me. My hair is in a ponytail. That's key sign that I couldn't be bothered because I'm exhausted.
I worked all last week, Saturday in Monaco, and Sunday our trade show began so we were required to be in the office, and then jumped right into this week Monday morning.

This week at Chelsea Harbour there is a big, trade show going on, which means more people milling in and out than usual - which is a bad thing. But it also means every showroom has some type of goodies and drinks - which is a good thing! And every night there are big parties with all the same crowd in different venues around London. It's a fun week, but it requires a lot of cute outfits and a lot of chit chatting to the same people day after day and night after night...

The Harbour is only open to the trade for the week, and there are all sorts of interesting lectures, book signings, and events going on throughout the day. There are also some wonderful additions to the domes...like the sweet stand, and the champagne bar - where visitors and showroom workers like  myself can re-full throughout the day...

Sweet Treats!

Bubbly for all

I love this week because I take my lunch break to wander through all the showrooms munching on their assorted snacks! Cupcakes, tea sandwiches, mini scones and jam, prosciutto wrapped figs. It's free lunch everyday and something sweet is never in short supply. Our showroom went America- themed to celebrate our American roots. Homemade (by me of course) chocolate chip cookies and shots of milk.
But as a tribute to the English, we're blasting the tracks from "Let It Bleed" and "Sticky Fingers."

Happy dunking, Brits.

Last night was the big party that was thrown by the Harbour itself - and I must say they really outdid themselves. It was set in a room that had been transformed into an enchanted garden: moss covered all the walls and ceiling, and gorgeous, fresh flowers were covering every other surface in sight. Smartly dressed waiters were passing colorful appetizers on trays covered in daises and greenery, and blackberry gimlets, and edlerflower G&Ts were the drinks of choice. The soft, pink lighting gave the dark room a warm glow and it almost felt like things were growing as we wandered around, chatting with clients and friends. I recently broke the news of my departure to most of my contacts here, so it was nice to see a lot of them for what may be the last time.

We decided to get dolled up for the event, and had a massive sushi feast beforehand in the showroom - just us Londoners! A title I won't hold for very much longer....(tears)

The London Team, while I'm still a member of it. 

Among my favorite clients is a small studio in East London run by 3 english blokes who are always at every party. So when the garden party ended, we decided to come back to our showroom and raid the chocolate chip cookie stash before continuing onto the pub. 

We got on the topic of New York City over our beers, and one of the guys was telling me about his experience at Coldstone Creamery in New York - a place a friend said he MUST visit whilst in America. Hearing an English person describe a visit to Coldstone Creamery to you, as an American, should be considered a form of entertainment. I was nearly in tears from laughter by the end of his ten minute rant, and was reminded how nothing even remotely like that exists here.

I realized there is very clear distinction between the East London bloke, and the West London chap.
West Londoners are daper, proper, and likely still live with their parents in their enormous flat in Chelsea. They socialize on the King's Road or Westbourne Grove and wear colored trousers during the day and Saville Row suits at night.

The East Londoners are cool, artsy, and likely live in a colorful flatshare with 2 or 3 other blokes in Shoreditch. They hang out at the Queen of Hoxton and spend Sundays at Spitalfields, wearing Rag & Bone cardigans during the day, and great, printed button ups under their funky jackets at night.

As I'm beginning my search for an apartment in New York, inarguably one of the worst tasks that anyone could have on their plate - I'm considering the East and West side differences here. I've been a West-sider my whole life, and a Chelsea girl for 3 of the 4 years I lived in the city. So naturally returning to the 20s on 8th Avenue was my first instinct. But now I'm feeling a bit of been there, done that syndrome - and becoming thrilled by the idea of moving a couple avenues east and a lot of streets south. It could be a fun and totally new experience living in a different, younger, busier part of Manhattan.

At least live east for a few months until my superyacht job pans out... I'm actively pursuing a 68m M/Y that is Asia-bound....Thailand, Singapore, Malaysia - here I come!

La Fin d'été

This weekend was my official last weekend away in Europe of the year. And Friday night was the last night of summer. And what better place to spend the last night of summer than Monte Carlo?

I went to Nice earlier this summer but didn't make it to Monaco, so I was excited to find this ritzy, fancy, little city was just what I imagined. My trip was brief - 36 hours to be exact. But when you make the most of every hour, you don't really need more than 36 to have a beyond memorable time.

Monte Carlo is kind of a magical place. It's like a classy version of Vegas - but built on an enormous cliff on the sea, and since we were there for the yacht show the Harbour was stacked with even more rows ad rows of enormous yachts than usual, lit up and sparkling against the seamless black sea and sky. The landscape is also dotted with baroque architecture: the casino, le hotel de Paris, the opera house. They look like enormous mini palaces, and glow in a way that tempts you to come in for a cocktail or a game of roulette.

There's no such thing as being too dressed up in Monaco, and dressing up is one of my favorite activities. So wearing one of my most proper party dresses, I headed with my co-worker to Buddah Bar for what turned out to be a delicious dinner and fabulous start to a fabulous night.

A menu truly made up of my own heart's desires: delicious maki sushirolls, black cod in a miso sauce, melting chocolate cake with hazelnut gelato, a cocktail by the name of "Berry Cake." We went through a few courses and by the time we finished it was already rather late in the evening. Since we had worked a whole day and had to be up at 8am the next morning to go the yacht show,  we briefly contemplated going back to the hotel for an early night.... and then instantly decided against it.
You just don't turn in early in Monte Carlo.

There was a private party going on at le Meridien hotel as part of the yacht show, but it was strict invitation only for the captains of the superyachts and the top executives of the companies attending the MYS. We arrived to find a slew of people trying to procure entrance without an invite, like ourselves.

I don't like taking no for an answer - so rather than walking away defeated, we went outside through the restaurant, walked around and up onto the terrace, right behind the guard, and joined the party.

It was quite an affair. Open bars every few feet, elaborate tables of savories and sweets, a live band, all set around the beautiful, sprawling pool and overlooking the sea.

We instantly befriended a few Captains, including Dusty, the Captain of the 48m yacht called "Inevitable," and secured ourselves a tour for the next day.  We mixed and mingled until it was past midnight, had a cupcake or two, and were about to put down our wine glasses to call it a night when I noticed a tall, handsome stranger walking right towards me... cue dream scenario.

He came to invite us to join him and his little group - which included a friendly Moroccan guy named Unis, a floridian who owns a yacht-uniform supply company, and an Austrian charter yacht captain/chef/dive instructor named Daniella with an Austrian accent as thick as her long black hair. She oozed craziness and kindness - two of my favorite types of nesses. This was a fun and interesting group, and as the evening progressed we became even more fun and interesting.

12am

2am

3am

I was surprised to learn Mr. Tall Dark & Handsome was an American and recent college grad like myself, who took up a job at the family business until he decided what he wants to do. He spends half the year in Antibes and the other half in Fort Lauderdale working for their company's two offices. It's a tough life in the yacht business...

We all got along quite well - so when that party closed down we all decided to find another one -  parties are not in short supply in Monte Carlo.

We settled on a beach-front destination where we danced among the crowd of Captains and superyachters until I physically could no longer stand in my heels. It was such a gorgeous night outside, and I felt like I was living out a personal fantasy.... dancing the last night of summer away with a handsome stranger in the south of France, overlooking the sea and yelling cheers of "À la fin d'été!" as we clinked champagne flutes.

And I just kept thinking....why do I have to go back to life in America?

It was around 4:30am when I safely made it back to the hotel, heels miraculously still on, and a mere 4 hours later I was showered, dressed, and headed back to the Harbour for the last day of the yacht show.

We met up with Captain Dusty and made it on board the Inevitable, which really should be called the Incredible - and after chatting with the first mate I  got a great idea for the next bit of my life...

I'm going to get a job working on a Superyacht.

The crew of a superyacht basically has it made. No living expenses, all meals paid for, uniform supplied, and you spend your days traveling from place to place via the seas.  Now sure waiting on billionaires wouldn't be much fun, but most of theses yachts are only being used about a month of two a year. The rest of the time the crew is still paid, and still lives on the yacht, just hanging out....

Sort of sounds like the best job ever to me! One that allows me to continue traveling the world, whilst maintaining a year-round tan and expanding my swimwear collection.

After wandering around the yacht show, meeting contacts for my current job and future one, I finally made it back to the hotel and to the pool for one last swim and sunbathe, and a much needed nap. And there in the sunshine, poolside in Monte Carlo, on my official, last weekend away in Europe - I said au revoir to what has been a truly, fabulous summer.

From One Extreme to Another

Tonight I did something terrible.
Something so out of character that even now, after the fact, I can't believe it happened.
Something I would never have ever thought - in a million years - that I would do.

And really, I don't want to admit it  - but I think that if I don't get the guilt and shame off my chest it will only haunt me, so here it goes...

I got my hair cut at Supercuts. 

It was not planned, it just happened. After I saw this picture my friend took on our recent trip to Switzerland, I knew something had to be done about my mane.

With my return to New York being right around the corner, I wanted to hold out for the man I consider the hair god to trim my tresses, but I decided today that the situation was out of control and couldn't wait. Especially with the prospect of meeting a yacht-owning boyfriend this weekend in Monaco.
No one is going to go for a girl with split ends.

But this is London, and getting a day of appointment anywhere, for anything, is literally impossible. So I was frustrated, and worried, and not in a sound state of mind as I started walking towards the gym for my body attack class. And that's when I saw Supercuts in the distance.

No Appointment Required

Hair Cut £13.95 

I may well be pickier about who touches my hair with scissors than anyone on the planet. But desperate times call for desperate measures....

I figured how hard could it be to take just a mere inch of my ends? You can't really screw that up, right? Worst case scenario, I wear my hair up everyday until I get back to New York. So despite my heart screaming "don't do it" in I went.

I sat in the "stylist's" chair like it was the electric chair. Stiff as board, my stomach churning, panic rising.  She didn't speak English well. She had a dark line down the roots of the bleached, botched -bobbed hair. I was terrified that I was making a huge mistake.

"Hi. I just need a trim, please. Don't touch my layers, don't do anything but trim the ends - I just need an inch off please," I nervously muttered.

She held up a chunk of my hair between two fingers, easily 6" long, and said, "this much?"

I leapt out of the chair like it was on fire. "No, no, no!! GOD NO!" 

I felt a heart attack coming on - I was going to leave, but her colleague stepped in and said something in  her language as she nodded in understanding.

I really need this haircut.....I really need a trim..... my hair is weirdly long....everything will be okay, I repeated this mantra to myself, sitting back down, slowly.

I took the last inch of my goldie locks between my fingers and showed her. "No more than this, please." Then I shut my eyes, bit my lip, and prayed.

10 minutes later, I paid her £13.95 and was out the door, split endless.
And you know what, it looks good! I am certainly better off now than I was earlier today - and it's all thanks to Supercuts.

Will I ever go there again? NO.
Will I be paying the hair god a visit upon my return to New York to give me a proper cut? YES.

However, Supercuts was a good temporary solution, and although it was scary, it was also strangely thrilling to do something so out of character. But I guess going from one extreme to the other is not something all that unusal for me if I really think about it...

I was a vegetarian for a year, and then ordered Ox Cheek while dining at Jules Verne.

Some days I carry my Chloe bag, some days I go for my clutch from Forever 21.

One minute I'm listening to Taylor Swift, and the next minute I switch to the Rolling Stones.

I'll wear a leather bomber jacket and heavy eyeliner Monday, and a pink preppy blouse and pearls Tuesday.

I typically spend $200+ on a haircut at one of New York's top salons, but today I got a $15 trim at Supercuts.

Last night I was at the Serpentine Gallery sipping passion fruit martinis with the most important people in the Design world at a chic party for World of Interiors magazine, and tonight I made chocolate chip cookies with my flatmates and watched Clueless in my cupcake print pajamas.

I live a life of extremes - and I wouldn't have it any other way.
The only thing I won't sway back and forth on is my hair color: I'm a blonde. Always have been, always will be.

Swiss Miss

I have more or less worked my way through an alphabet of cities and sites in Europe.
Amsterdam, Brogues, Cotswald, Denmark, Edinburgh, Florence, Granada, Hampton Court Palace, Ilse of Wight, Kefalonia, London, Munich, Nice, Oxford, Paris, Rome, Salzburg, Tuscany, Venice, Windsor, Yarmouth, and ending last weekend with my last adventure in Zurich. I've gone from A to Z.

Switzerland has been on my dreamlist for a long time. Mostly because of my obsession with Heidi and Swiss Miss packets as a child, but as I grew up and learned more about this magical country of fondue, chocolate, and snow capped mountains, going there changed from a matter of "if" to "when and with who," and thankfully my ex-pat, ex-nyc gal pal is just as keen on melting cheese and accumulating passport stamps as I.

I didn't exactly know what to expect in Switzerland. There weren't too many sterotypes I could cling too, and everyone I told I was going there reacted with a rather surprised, "why?"

Why?.... Why NOT, I thought!

I had been wanting an Alpine adventure, but everyone's indifference made me a bit worried that it wasn't a good destination after all. But I have learned there really is no such thing as a bad destination in Europe, and I was charmed from the minute we arrived at the Banhoff.

Zurich is the German bit of Switzerland, so it turned out that everything was in German rather than the French I was counting on - but I didn't give a schnitzel the second I realized that meant there would be pretzels.

Due to our delay we had missed dinner and were starving. Ee started towards the hotel, hopeless of encountering anything other than a McDonalds, and then there was the pretzel stand.... lit up like a glowing, shining, answer to our hunger pains. I ran towards the Brezelkonig with open arms, like it was an old friend I hadn't seen in years. German cuisine is extremely underrated. Aside from the pretzels, there is spatzel and apple strudel and basically everything is covered in cheese. Why is there hot a bierhaus in every city?

We put our carb-load to use bright and early the next day, marathon walking around the old city checking out the sites - like the Fraumunster, which is church-name that could only exist in the German language. The city was stunning, but what we really came for was a Swiss mountain experience, so we decided to hike up the Uetliberg, Zurich's mini mountain. The problem was, we didn't exactly pack hiking clothes - but that wasn't going to stop us.

Everyone we passed was in hiking shoes and some form of fleece and spandex, and there I was in jeggings, a studded-pocket flannel, anthropologie riding boots, my leather jacket, and my Rebecca Minkoff bag. My friend was in similar apparel.

It wasn't easy - we got passed by a few 50+ year olds with walking poles. But it was fun.
After making it to the top of the Uetliberg, we hiked two hours to Felsenegg, another panoramoic viewing point that happened to have a little Swiss/German outdoor restaurant, and there I found out my friend had never had fondue. Never! Something clearly had to be done about that!

It was perfection. Sitting outside, high on a mountain in Switzerland, looking out over the lush, green, rolling hills and roaming cows, breathing in the cool, alpine air, skewering hunks of amazing peasant bread and drowning them in bubbling, melty, swiss.

We took the cable car down the mountain, since we were a bit knackered from our 2 hour hike and had both entered a cheese comma. Back in Zurich, we wandered down the Bahnhofsstraße checking out Swiss shops and buying truffles at Confiserie Sprüngli.

The events of the evening are probably best left untold, since I'm not sure I could even accurately recall them. It began with us passing my a cool looking place with an enormous queue of people behind a velvet rope, so we went to the bouncer at the front to ask what was going on inside.

B: Private party.
Us: Oh, okay.
B: Are you on the guestlist?
Us: No, we're from America.
B: Well, would you like to come in?
Us: Uhhh....ok?

We then befriended a group of people of Tel Aviv, where my friend had just went on holiday, who insisted on teaching us how to salsa dance - and the rest is history. It is so fun making friends in Europe. You meet people from all over the world, with the most interesting lives and travel stories. And as an added bonus, I now have an open invitation to visit Israel.

Before we had to leave Sunday night, we spent the afternoon in the lovely city of Lucerne, walking around the Lake and enjoying the scenery.

Lake Lucerne

Chapel Bridge

lone swan

We enjoyed a delicious, typically Swiss lunch at a lake-side cafe of Aplermagronen. Which is the swiss version of macaroni and cheese - but add in potatoes and serve it with a side of applesauce, wash it down like a Radler. So bad, but oh so good.

Aplermagronen

So my last trip was indeed a great one! But was also an expensive one.
I learned Switzerland = $$$$
1 swiss francs equals out to a little more than the value of 1 dollar. But the cost of everything was so obscene, I just started pretending like I didn't understand the conversion rate.

If you did convert, it came to about...
$6 for a bottle of water.
$8 for a pretzel.
$20 for an Aperol Spritz
$80 for fondue for two.

So yes, better to not think about it. Luckily we were only there for 2 days! How someone could afford a week in Switzerland, I have no idea. Thankfully I did this trip young, so what was sacrificed to pay for it was a pair of nice shoes, rather a semester of college for my child.

Zurich was the last of my holidays in Europe. Tomorrow I head to Monaco for the weekend, but since it's for work I'm not counting it as holiday - even though fun will definitely be had. I'm being sent there purely to mingle and meet new clients - so I am packing my cutest outfits, highest heels, and plenty of business cards to pass out to the young, handsome, yacht owners.

Carpe Diem!

Waffling Around

Where have I been, what have I been doing?
I guess the better question is: where haven't I been, what haven't I been doing?

In the past 3 week's time I've gone from New York, Ohio, to Venice, to Rome, back home to London, spent the weekend in Britain for the first time in nearly two months, then to Zurich and Lucerne, and in 3 short days I am heading to Monaco.

I haven't seen my flat in ages, I don't sleep anymore, I'm wearing out my stilettos going from place to place, trying to cover every inch of London, and have somehow made loads of new mates - right as I'm about to leave of course.

Reality is setting in that my time here is running out, and I don't like it. I really don't want to go back to America.

Did you see this coming? Back in February I was seriously considering quitting my job just to get back to America, and now I'm seriously considering eloping with a Brit just to stay in England. It goes to show just how fickle emotions can be. 

You think you know what you want, and then everything changes but it's too late to do anything about it. My visa is expiring. My ticket is booked. I'm going back to America.

In many ways, I think I've just realized how lucky I've been this whole year. Meeting new and interesting people everyday from all over the world, wandering around the Tate, the British Museum, and the Satchi Gallery, shopping in Selfrides, living in a country where eating scones and clotted cream everday is completely acceptable, leaving work Friday and heading to the airport to spend the weekend roaming around the cobblestoned streets of (fill in the blank), swooning.

It's all coming to an end....
Back to weekends of shopping in SoHo and visiting the MoMA. Which is, I admit,  still an amazing way to spend the weekend....but if I had to choose between yachting in Monaco or shopping at Club Monaco.. .well I think we all know the answer to that.

This past summer was undoubtably the best summer of my life. Exploring somewhere different every weekend, going to the Olympics, and a reunion with my entire family. And actually when I think of the year as a whole - this really has been the best year of my life, despite the somewhat rocky start. And when I continue to think of it - this month may be the best month of my year so far, the grand finale to a wonderful year in London.

The weather has been gorgeous, I've made new friends and developed a sudden closeness with  the existing ones, I know my way around here without any hesitation or difficulty, and I've done something wonderful, everyday.

Studying the 100 objects that tell the history of the world at the British Museum, champange-ing my way through London's FNO, going to the Olympic stadium to watch the Paralympics, spending a consecutive 48 hours with a group of strangers that instantly became friends, crossing the bridges of Venice with my sister, picnicking in Hyde Park, wandering through giant chess sets the Satchi Gallery, Mexican-food outtings with my best guy friend here who pronounces burrito "bore-E-toe," learning to salsa dance with a group of Israelites while crashing a private party in Zurich, afterwork drinks on warm nights at Gordon's Wine Bar with friends, hearing a band called "The Daisy Cutters" cover American punk music, having swiss fondue on top of mountain, coming home at 3am to find 100+ Brits in my flat for my flatmate's birthday celebration, sipping an unfairly good tasting latte with an unfairly good looking British Army officer at a secret coffee shop, admiring the amazing Mr. Brainwash exhibition and leaving with swag, getting to watch the premier of Season 3 of Downtown Abbey 4 months before it debuts in America.... Yeah, I'd say it's been a great month.

Olympic Park

Chess Set designed by Yayoi Kusama

Hyde Park on a late summer's day

lovely latte

Swiss Fondue

And tonight I had one of the truly best and most memorable meals of my life at a little place called Duck&Waffle.

On the 40th floor of Heron Tower, with unparalleled views of the city of London, I ate like I was in New York. I met my friend for cocktails and plate shares, and among the many things we sipped and snacked on, the star of the evening was of course - the signature dish.

duck & waffle / crispy leg confit / fried duck egg / mustard maple syrup 

Duck&Waffle

Both the views and the food at D&W are nothing less than out of sight. It was the mustard maple syrup that really got me hooked!

We weren't surprised to learn the restaurant in owned by the same people who own Sushi Samba, which also just opened in the Heron Tower one floor down.

Pre-dinner, we sat in the awesome bar taking in the view and sipping "canned" Mint Juleps topped with whipped cream. 

Mint Juleps "canned" at Duck & Waffle

The bar at Duck&Waffle

By the time we were seated and mid-waffle gorging, we had befriended the manager of the place. He could tell we weren't from London and wanted to see what we thought of everything. When he found out we were from New York, and that I was a big fan of the El Topo roll, he brought over the manager of Sushi Samba to meet us too and insisted we come back for dinner there. He also suggested some dessert. Done and done.

A few moments later, out came the torrejas -  which Mario Batali describes as spiked Spanish French toast for grown-ups, and I'd say that's pretty accurate. I would probably never order this on my own, so thank goodness matters were taken out of my hands. 

This little skillet was so delicious, I was trying to lick it clean. Maple, carmel apples, carmel ice cream, fresh toasted brioche, sauce that could only be made of crack it was so addictive.

So waffles for dinner, french toast of dessert - what do these people have on the breakfast menu?

I guess there is only one way to find out.... and I've still got a couple weeks left to do it. 

La Rentrée

Back in London, and spending the weekend here for the first since time since the beginning of July, and I'm actually looking forward to it. I have a ticket to the Paralympics Athletics Saturday, and I'll also be able to go to go to Barrecore and my favorite outdoor market in the Duke of York Square that I haven't seen in ages. I'm going to try some new hot spots in Mayfair with my American pal Saturday night, but not drink too much to safely make it Yoga at Lululemon Sunday. From there I want to visit the British Museum to see the 100 objects from the book I've been reading, "A History of the World in 100 Objects."

It's surprising how much this place has really started to feel like home.

I'm not sure how, but it became September and it really feels like summer is over. Though the arrival of fall has strangely brought the sunshine to London during the day, there is a crispy chill in the air in the mornings and nights, and for the first time last night I woke up in the middle of the night and had to pull my pink tie-dyed Southampton blanket out and throw it over my duvet before crawling back into bed.

Fall is my favorite season. And although it's actually nearly the end of the year, it always feels more like the beginning of it. Everything starts in the fall.... the holidays, the start of school, fashion week.
There's something in the air in September - and maybe it is that sudden chill -  that actually gives you chills, that makes you feel like something new is coming.

In Paris, this time of year is called La Rentrée, "the return." So since I am French at heart, it's appropriate that it is during the fall that I will have my very own rentrée to New York.

But rather than feeling like I'm returning, or going back, I feel like I'm going forward. I left New York an unsure college graduate and I'm returning a more confident, determined, driven, experienced, and dare I say adult version of the girl I was when I left. So instead of moving back to New York, I'm moving forward to New York, and truly beginning my life.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

But not before saying a proper goodbye to London, and really making my last month here count. I've made a pact with myself to never just go home after work. Everyday here is going to be a fabulous day, and it has been so far.

Last night, I got lucky enough last night to be invited to a celebratory dinner at a restaurant in SoHo called Nopi with some friends here who just turned in their dissertations. Friends who I hadn't seen looking mentally or physically well since May when their finals were finally over. Over the summer, they would come to meet me for lunch to take a break from their studies - and show up disgruntled, disheveled, and be entirely disengaged in our conversations.

They couldn't sleep, socialize, groom, dress, or have fun for the past 3 months.  Life revolved around their dissertation. It slightly made me think I may want to re-consider my desire to go back to school later in life for a Masters Degree, but I know from experience that no matter what chaos is ensuing in my life it doesn't stop me from putting on a dress and heels and having clean, curled hair.

I nearly didn't recognize the smiling, shiny, stylin' versions of my girlfriends already sitting at the table sipping Syrah when I arrived. And spending time with my friends, I'm already realizing how much I'm going to miss the relationships I've built with them. When I leave London, I also have to leave a few people here who are that rare kind that are really worth hanging on to.

Tonight after work I headed to Mayfair with my co-worker to take part in London's Fashion's Night Out - a much smaller and calmer version of what happens in New York, which was actually a great thing since last year I found myself immobile in the crowded streets of Soho.

My co-worker is recently engaged and has yet to pick her ring, so we started the night in a fancy, boutique jewelry store, drinking Moet and snacking on their prime rib passers while she tried on some serious bling. We headed from there to the Burlington Arcade and then made our way up Bond St, popping in and out of the main events at Dior, Tiffanys, Tory Burch, Burberry, Aspinal, and of course - the star attraction, Louis Vuitton.

I am fascinated by their current collaboration with Yayoi Kusama, Japanese Polka Dot Artist, and had to see the collection in person. This crazed octogenarian originally hit the scene in the 1960s alongside Warhol and Lichtenstein, and says dots are her "personal medicine." Today she still willfully resides in a mental institution in Japan, that she checked herself into in the 70s.

Leave it to Marc Jacobs to re-discover her and name her a genius!

Sadly I've just missed her exhibit at the Tate Modern, which ended in June, so I won't get to judge for myself, but I am quite in love with Louis Vuitton's collection inspired by her quite literal, madness. 

In the store, they had models dressed as her, the collection showcased throughout, short red wigs available for a free photo opt, and were serving tall, red, bubble tea cocktails that appeared to be polka dotted, and payed homage to Kusama's Asian descent. Always so clever, that LV! 

Fashion's Night Out really is one of the coolest events of the year, and was extra fabulous in London. Aside from being just a plain brilliant idea, it's a wonderful way to see what's new and exciting in fashion and experience it with others. It was also amazing just to see London so full of fashionable people, the stores open past 7pm, and freebies everywhere!

My favorite souvenir from the night is a small bottle of my very own perfume that I got to custom create and name by choosing scents I liked, and then having the mixologist bring my creation to life - all for free! As I choose the scents that appealed to me, he explained how the kind of scents you are attracted to can tell a lot about the kind of person you are.

Uh huh..... I'm not that dumb, but I love to humor people.

For my custom perfume, I chose a base scent of vanilla, a middle scent of amber, and a top scent of gentle florals. According to this man's chart he referenced after mixing,  floral scents are attractive to those who are romantics and dreamers, amber to those who are naturally charming and extroverted, and vanilla to those who are calm and collected. While I am 100% certain that his chart is entirely made up  -  it sounded perfect. And clearly, I have a gift - because it smells incredible.

After everything was mixed and poured, you got to name your fragrance and have it wrapped up and slipped into a tiny, feather filled to-go bag. A fabulous idea for a freebie, and I have certainly found my new scent that I am going to wear everyday since I love that it is entirely unique.

So what did I choose to name my fun, one of a kind fragrance?

"La Rentrée" 

Attraverssimo!

Holy cannoli. I have not been giving Italy enough credit.

I was here two years ago, skipping around Florence and Rome and eating nothing but pizza and gelato for a few days. I left feeling like, "Italy....do I like it? Yes. Is it one of my favorite places ever? No"

But being in England, and only a 1 hour plane ride away from Italia, I started to crave the bridges of Venice.
And now that I have walked them - I have realized the error of my ways.
I'm older and wiser, and Italy is incredible.

First I must tell you, the rumors are not true: Venice does not stink, and it is not crowded.
At least not in September.

It was a lovely 75, breezy and perfect and there were several times we were the only people walking down one of the multi-colored stucco streets. Once you leave the Rilato, the touristy restaurants become candlelit holes in the wall, and the porcelain mask shops disappear. The sound of Italian waiters shouting "Bellissima!"  as you pass fades away and the streets become peaceful and quiet. No cars, no bikes, no vespas, just the sounds of the city. The water of the canals softly swishing up against the bank, the soft chit chat coming from the gondolas gliding past, an occasional, soft "buona sera" from a passer-byer, sighs of "mmmmmm" as someone takes a bite of their homemade carbonara.  

A Venetian street never goes straight for more than a couple meters before feeding you into an understated piazza, or over a tiny bridge with steps worn away from the many, many shoes that have crossed it. We walked around all day after we arrived Friday morning, just wandering the streets with no real agenda but to take it all in.

At the Piazza St. Marco, we ducked into the Basilica, the most elaborate cathedral in Europe, where we looked up in awe of the 4000 square meters of gold mosaic on the ceiling.

Around the Castello, our quickly growing pasta-bellies traveled in and out of every gelato shop we passed, salivating over the flavors: pistachio, amarina, chocolati, menti...

At the market around the Rilato, we were wide eyed the colorful food for sale by the even more colorful vendors.

When we finally took a seat to give our limbs a rest, we sat facing the piazza at the Florian, the oldest cafe from the 1700s, sipping a Spritz and enjoying the live classical music while watching the Italian men pass by in their pointed leather shoes and perfectly tailored suits.

Venice is not what I expected. It's peaceful, tranquil, and painfully beautiful. It doesn't feel like a real place, but rather something someone dreamed up one night, or read about it in a fairytale. It's magical.

I'm here with my sister, who has never been to Europe aside from London - which I personally don't believe counts as Europe. Like France has always been the object of my affection, Italy has always been hers. A lover of red wine, pasta, and pizza that puffs up like a blowfish when cooked - she is the perfect companion in Italia.

I have gotten so used to Europe and become so comfortable here, that I sometimes forget what it's like for a first timer to be in a new place.

For example, at the coffee shop our first morning, I order a Cappuccino, even though I'm more of a latte person. I know Cappuccino is what they drink here, so I go with it, and after a painless exchange of basic english and one euro fifty I'm sipping my foamy beverage in bliss.

Alison, orders hers with a bit of difficulty... in the following scenario, Ali will be "A" and the Italian behind the counter is "I"

I: "Preggo"
A: "Hello, a latte please"
I: "Latte - with coffee?"
A: Uhhh, (glance at me) yes? Latte. Latte, please.
I: With milk?
A: Yes?!?
I: Una Latte, 2 euros miss
A: Um, do you have milk choices?
I: (confused face)
A: Milk choices? Milk? Do you have Soy?
I: No, just one milk
A: Oh, shoot. Okay. Normal milk then.... Gratzi!
Alison then proceeds to get out her Splenda and empty the contents of 2 packets into the paper cup. 
A: Damn! I forgot to ask for a straw...

But my sister, who is totally out of her element and in a new and foreign place, has done just fine since that first awkward encounter. It's inspiring, how quickly someone can adapt to change.

Attraverssimo is the only word in Italian that I know. Like most, I learned it from reading "Eat, Pray, Love." It means, "let's crossover." It is said if you're one side of the street and want to get to the other.

Like Elizabeth Gilbert,  I think it's one of the most beautiful words in the Italian language. Both in how it sounds and what it means.

Crossing over occurs in many situations in life. We leave where we are or what we know, and enter uncharted territory.

Crossing over is not always easy. In fact I've come to learn that I both crave and fear the familiar and the unknown. But I don't think I'm alone in that. We crave change, but at the same time we crave routine. And when either comes upon us unexpectedly, we are shaken to the core.

No one really likes being trapped in the inbetween; not sure where they’re going, and likely hurt by where they’ve been.

But deep down we all know that it's when we are shaken to our core that we grow. We arrive at our greatest insights, gain awareness, perspective, and understanding. At least I believe that, and when I go through something difficult, in the back of my mind somewhere I know that I'll come out of it a better and wiser version of myself - and it helps me get through.

Crossing over is moving forward into the unknown. It's scary, but in doing it we discover new things, new aspects of who we are. So, attraverssimo! Let's crossover.

And what better place to crossover - than in Venice?