L X
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
WW2 ON 11/MARZO/2010
OUR HOTEL ROOM ON DAY 2 LOOKED LIKE A BOMB HAD HIT IT. THANKGOD TAN ISNT A NEAT FREAK.
10/MARZO/2010
OUR FIRST NIGHT IN MILANO. & WE HEADED TO CUNT CLUB. YES REALLY. A NIGHT. CALLED JUST THAT.
L X
INSIDE WE VENTURED. AND WERE MET WITH SKINNY BOYS WEARING UBER SKINNY JEANS, ALL BLACK, COMPLETE WITH BLACK LONG SWEPT HAIR. IT REMINDED ME SOMEWHAT OF AN OLD SOUTHEND SCENE, AND ALOT LIKE HORRORS WANNABES.
MET SOME UBER COOL GIRLS IN THE TOILETS, ONE NAMED NONO FROM CALI, DISSED BOYS IN THE TOILETS, CLIMBED UP INFRONT OF THE DJS, DANCED THE NIGHT AWAY, AND MISSED THE LAST TRAM HOME.
L X
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
so·journ [n. soh-jurn; v. soh-jurn, soh-jurn]
–noun
1.a temporary stay: during his sojourn in Paris.
–verb (used without object)
2.to stay for a time in a place; live temporarily: to sojourn on the Riviera for two months.
something else occurred to me somewhere along oursojourn journey from london and milan.
i've come to a conclusion. the reason i'm experiencing such difficulty with this project is due to the lack of boundaries. having been given the freedom to write our own briefs, there are no boundaries to speak of. i am a person who needs definition, i crave it even - blame it on my singaporean upbringing - i like knowing my limits; where and how far i'm allowed to go.
left to my own devices, it's like being presented with a hundred types of candy at the candy shop - you end up leaving with none.
variety confuses me, but it's just something i'm going to have to take in my stride. erase away those lines, colour outside the box.
flexibility is KEY.
could milan be the perfect place to start?
–noun
1.a temporary stay: during his sojourn in Paris.
–verb (used without object)
2.to stay for a time in a place; live temporarily: to sojourn on the Riviera for two months.
something else occurred to me somewhere along our
i've come to a conclusion. the reason i'm experiencing such difficulty with this project is due to the lack of boundaries. having been given the freedom to write our own briefs, there are no boundaries to speak of. i am a person who needs definition, i crave it even - blame it on my singaporean upbringing - i like knowing my limits; where and how far i'm allowed to go.
left to my own devices, it's like being presented with a hundred types of candy at the candy shop - you end up leaving with none.
variety confuses me, but it's just something i'm going to have to take in my stride. erase away those lines, colour outside the box.
flexibility is KEY.
could milan be the perfect place to start?
when in milan...
someone once famously said, "When in Rome, do the Romans" a naughty little spin on the classic line, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." As it turns out, that person was I.
however... we are in milan, and apparently the milanese do things a little differently.
for one, they don't seem very naughty to me. farrrr from it. at first sight, milan appears grey, industrial and a bit too dusty for my liking (if you know what i mean). i came with no expections, yet somehow, it doesn't quite measure up. maybe rome has forever tainted me with its classically stunning architecture and tourist-friendly vibe; italian men calling out "ciao bella!" with every step you take.
BUT, one thing i've learnt in life: never judge a book by its cover - we're in MILAN for god's sake, MILAN! the land of genuine fur coats (which salesgirls spend all day brushing) and chic old men/women running errands looking like they've just stepped out of a scene from a 50s movie.
after our treacherous journey from london to milan (which very nearly didn't happen), and a lengthy bus and taxi ride later, we emerge in an unfamiliar part of the city; where the locals seem to speak only italian. i can't explain why we were as surprised as we were, after all, it IS italy, it's only natural the italians speak italian.
*snug as bugs in rugs are we; tucked away from the outside world of whitewashed streets, in a chic little hotel in milan, as pellets of snow fall hard and fast.
what a difference a few hours makes.
the treacherous trek
5.20am - we arrive at stansted, head straight for airport security - pleased as pencils because we already checked in online last night. needless to say, i am stunned to be directed to the check-in counter because i'm not an EU/UK citizen and had to get my passport/visa checked. OMG! our faces turn white at this unwelcome obstacle (the first of many to come). panicked by the sight of the neverending queue, i head straight to the front and plead with the first guy in line (one of the only times being a small asian girl comes in handy) to let me go first.
however... we are in milan, and apparently the milanese do things a little differently.
for one, they don't seem very naughty to me. farrrr from it. at first sight, milan appears grey, industrial and a bit too dusty for my liking (if you know what i mean). i came with no expections, yet somehow, it doesn't quite measure up. maybe rome has forever tainted me with its classically stunning architecture and tourist-friendly vibe; italian men calling out "ciao bella!" with every step you take.
BUT, one thing i've learnt in life: never judge a book by its cover - we're in MILAN for god's sake, MILAN! the land of genuine fur coats (which salesgirls spend all day brushing) and chic old men/women running errands looking like they've just stepped out of a scene from a 50s movie.
after our treacherous journey from london to milan (which very nearly didn't happen), and a lengthy bus and taxi ride later, we emerge in an unfamiliar part of the city; where the locals seem to speak only italian. i can't explain why we were as surprised as we were, after all, it IS italy, it's only natural the italians speak italian.
*snug as bugs in rugs are we; tucked away from the outside world of whitewashed streets, in a chic little hotel in milan, as pellets of snow fall hard and fast.
what a difference a few hours makes.
the treacherous trek
5.20am - we arrive at stansted, head straight for airport security - pleased as pencils because we already checked in online last night. needless to say, i am stunned to be directed to the check-in counter because i'm not an EU/UK citizen and had to get my passport/visa checked. OMG! our faces turn white at this unwelcome obstacle (the first of many to come). panicked by the sight of the neverending queue, i head straight to the front and plead with the first guy in line (one of the only times being a small asian girl comes in handy) to let me go first.
to my surprise, he does. i'm ever so grateful.
fresh/flushed from my newfound success, we run to the security high five-ing each other. we should have known better; murphy and his law wouldn't have let us off that easily!
5.40-5.50am - uh-oh. laura's bag gets taken aside and checked. hairspray gets confiscated!
5.50am - gate opens. we pass on the notion of buying breakfast and brisk walk to gate 47, which is an eternity away.
5.55am - nearly at our gate when we are stopped and told to put ALL our bags in one suitcase. heart stops beating. panicked faces. i forcefully stuff my handbag into the suitcase, barely managing to zip it up. laura passes her camera bag to me and i sneakily sling it on my shoulder, underneath my massive red cape - thank god for capes, ponchos, fur coats and the like. a fellow passenger whispers, "if i were you, i'd just make a run for it!!" being the honest folk that we are, we make a feeble attempt to abide by the rules - kind of.
6.00am - just when we think are in the clear, we notice (with great alarm) that the staff are doing bag checks along with the scanning of boarding passes. OMG! laura makes it but i get stopped and told to fit my bag into that dreadful cage-like thing. it feels like one of those, 'leave me behind! just save yourself!'-type situations. i shoot laura a look of sheer terror, she motions with her eyes for me to make a run for it, but i motion back that they have my passport. i am dying inside. i knew my bag wouldn't fit even before i tried.
in case you were wondering, it didn't fit.
using my god-given cavemen-survival instincts, i hastily unpack and repack my bag; stuffing underwear into every available crevice in an attempt to flatten the suitcase. embarrassment be damned! i bet more than a few caught a glimpse of its colourful contents, not that i even noticed. my heart was too busy having an attack of its own. not to mention/add, laura's illegally stowed camera bag kept slipping off my shoulder.
surprise surprise, it fits. YES! it feels like i've just won the lottery. i run to the plane feeling higher than high. this could possibly be the best feeling in the world. who needs drugs when you can bluff ryan air into carrying more than 10kg of your handcarry luggage onboard? NOT US, that's for sure!
6.05am - finally. we board the plane and take our seats; albeit a little jumpily, our eyes darting from side to side in anticipation of the next obstacle. to our relief, the plane takes off and we're off to milan!
our adventure begins...
v
fresh/flushed from my newfound success, we run to the security high five-ing each other. we should have known better; murphy and his law wouldn't have let us off that easily!
5.40-5.50am - uh-oh. laura's bag gets taken aside and checked. hairspray gets confiscated!
5.50am - gate opens. we pass on the notion of buying breakfast and brisk walk to gate 47, which is an eternity away.
5.55am - nearly at our gate when we are stopped and told to put ALL our bags in one suitcase. heart stops beating. panicked faces. i forcefully stuff my handbag into the suitcase, barely managing to zip it up. laura passes her camera bag to me and i sneakily sling it on my shoulder, underneath my massive red cape - thank god for capes, ponchos, fur coats and the like. a fellow passenger whispers, "if i were you, i'd just make a run for it!!" being the honest folk that we are, we make a feeble attempt to abide by the rules - kind of.
6.00am - just when we think are in the clear, we notice (with great alarm) that the staff are doing bag checks along with the scanning of boarding passes. OMG! laura makes it but i get stopped and told to fit my bag into that dreadful cage-like thing. it feels like one of those, 'leave me behind! just save yourself!'-type situations. i shoot laura a look of sheer terror, she motions with her eyes for me to make a run for it, but i motion back that they have my passport. i am dying inside. i knew my bag wouldn't fit even before i tried.
in case you were wondering, it didn't fit.
using my god-given cavemen-survival instincts, i hastily unpack and repack my bag; stuffing underwear into every available crevice in an attempt to flatten the suitcase. embarrassment be damned! i bet more than a few caught a glimpse of its colourful contents, not that i even noticed. my heart was too busy having an attack of its own. not to mention/add, laura's illegally stowed camera bag kept slipping off my shoulder.
surprise surprise, it fits. YES! it feels like i've just won the lottery. i run to the plane feeling higher than high. this could possibly be the best feeling in the world. who needs drugs when you can bluff ryan air into carrying more than 10kg of your handcarry luggage onboard? NOT US, that's for sure!
6.05am - finally. we board the plane and take our seats; albeit a little jumpily, our eyes darting from side to side in anticipation of the next obstacle. to our relief, the plane takes off and we're off to milan!
our adventure begins...
v
Thursday, 4 March 2010
desperately seeking inspiration
START. WRITING. NOW.
getting started is always the hardest part, so i've heard.
please god, give me something to write about.
SOMETHING, ANYTHING!
on a side note, i'm pleased to say i'm feeling particularly inspired by the indian pre-wedding henna ceremony cum dance party i've just attended. my hands, palms and back are pretty much covered in henna. can't wait for it to completely set, and for the colour to darken in the coming days. they says it lasts for 2-3 weeks; i'm psyched to show my friends my 'tatts' when i return to london.
(that's my lame attempt at sounding bad ass, and failing miserably. heh)
i can't stop sneeking peaks at my back in the mirror. i felt weird walking around all night with something drawn on my back, but not having a clue as to what it looked like.
anyway, that's it for today, time for beddybyes. note to self: must wake up early tomorrow morning (later today) to write/blog.
p/s: as soon as facebook decides to stop messing around with me, the colourful photos from tonight will be uploaded.
getting started is always the hardest part, so i've heard.
please god, give me something to write about.
SOMETHING, ANYTHING!
on a side note, i'm pleased to say i'm feeling particularly inspired by the indian pre-wedding henna ceremony cum dance party i've just attended. my hands, palms and back are pretty much covered in henna. can't wait for it to completely set, and for the colour to darken in the coming days. they says it lasts for 2-3 weeks; i'm psyched to show my friends my 'tatts' when i return to london.
(that's my lame attempt at sounding bad ass, and failing miserably. heh)
i can't stop sneeking peaks at my back in the mirror. i felt weird walking around all night with something drawn on my back, but not having a clue as to what it looked like.
anyway, that's it for today, time for beddybyes. note to self: must wake up early tomorrow morning (later today) to write/blog.
p/s: as soon as facebook decides to stop messing around with me, the colourful photos from tonight will be uploaded.
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