Officially snap happy!

A few weeks ago, I had the great fortune of meeting a lovely English couple, Paul & Pam, living here in France, who run French Photographic Holidays.  Having long wanted to learn how to improve my photography skills & finally learn how to use my current SLR properly, I was thrilled when they invited me along to one of their day courses.

Rolling up to their home in Les Âgés, a week after our original meeting, I spent the day in their in-house photography studio, learning about depth of field, shutter speed & Photoshop.  It took a while for all the jargon to fully filter into my brain & stick, but by the time lunch was ready, I felt I was starting to get to grips with it all.  Thankfully Paul is a very patient teacher.

Both their day courses & photography holidays, come with lunch included & I was most pleased to find that Pam was well equipped for whipping up a superb vegan friendly lunch.  Quinoa salad, homemade guacamole, fresh bread, mixed summer berries for dessert & best of all, a dairy free banana milkshake to wash it all down with!  Delish!

After lunch, Paul took me out into the cosy quiet hamlet, to put my new found skills to the test.  Finding an abandoned building, we took some great shots of the dusty furniture, left by the previous tenants.  Capturing the light shining through the windows & the cobwebs blowing in the wind.  It was beautifully haunting.

I found the whole lesson really invaluable, it truly inspired me to want to get out there & take more photos & start experimenting with settings, lighting & subjects.  Unfortunately, during our lesson, I learnt that after nearly seven years of keeping my camera in auto, the shutter speed & aperture dial has stopped working.  Therefore, in order to feed my photography hunger, I am having to look at investing in a new camera, which, having now been educated on the subject, I will at least be able to make far better use of.  That's my justification, anyway.

Having made firm friends in Paul & Pam, the three of us wasted no time in finding new things to photograph, a week later, when we took a trip to Perigueux market.  Whilst my camera may be a little restricting on some of the settings now, it still seems to work well on macro, so I had great fun snapping away at all the flowers, fruit & vegetables.  I love photographing inanimate objects, it has to be said.  I think a new camera & a few more lessons from Paul & I could be well on my way.

If you fancy a day's one-to-one photography & Photoshop course, or indeed, a week away in the sunny Dordogne, brushing up on your photography skills, whilst snapping the French roses, sipping the vin & nibbling on (it has to be said) fantastic food (Pam's vegan chocolate brownies are divine, whether you're a vegan or not), pop along to their website here & check them out.  I fully recommend them!

Self Identity

If there is one thing I am finding quite hard to hold onto at the moment, it is quite simply, my self identity.  I got over losing my home, no longer having a car & being without a job.  My travels made me realise that my identity didn't have to come from those things.  However, my great sense of self has somewhat diminished, along with my style.

During the long hot summer in Sicily, I consistently wore a bare face, my hair in a top knot, dirt under my nails, my skin darkened heavily by the sun & I was happy.  Although, I moaned, "this isn't what I normally look like" to everyone that would listen, until a Spanish guy I was friends with, said "what does it matter, those things aren't important, they're not what define you."  I didn't want to agree, but he was right.

By the time winter came around, I had accepted this very stripped down version of myself.  The outer shell was no longer important, it was who I was as a person that mattered.  Sadly though, with spring gently rolling in, I have to admit, I'm struggling.  I can't help but miss my groomed former self.  My monthly mani-pedi, my waist length hair, that golden tan, which has now faded to a sickeningly pale tone.

Having sold the contents of my wardrobe, I am left with a pair of Hunter wellingtons & a beaten up pair of DMs.  I don't even own a pair of sandals, let alone a pair of heels.  My black skinny jeans have faded to ash & holes have formed in unfortunate places & all of my T-shirts & sweaters are equally falling apart.  'It doesn't matter' I tell myself, but y'know, it kinda does.

Getting down to the bare essentials, stripping right back, exploring the world, understanding more about yourself, it's all great, but honestly, in the past eight months, as much as I've gained, I equally feel as though I've lost.  Yes, maybe having great hair isn't important in the grand scheme of things, but being able to look in the mirror & like what you see, somewhat is.  If not just for your self esteem!

I want to be the best version of myself, I have a dream & in that dream, I don't look like the vagabond I currently see in the mirror.  I think, there comes a time when, you have to start taking baby steps towards making your dreams a reality.  There's no point visualising a skinnier, healthier, more stylish you, if you never do anything in reality to achieve this.  Seeing your dreams formulate into reality is all part & parcel of forming them in the first place.

In eight months, I've learnt to accept myself as I am, know what I want & who I want to be.  I've learnt a lot & even more so, I've learnt that if something makes you unhappy, you should do something about it.  I don't want to spend my time feeling miserable because of my appearance, so I think it's finally time I bought a new pair of jeans.

REVIEW: Vademecum Organic Whitening Toothpaste

Hurrah, the supermarché has come up trumps again!  This time, with an organic whitening toothpaste by Vademecum.

You see, I have a bit of an aversion to chemical laden toothpastes.  In the few years that I fell off the organic wagon, I ended up just buying any old tube of paste, whatever was the cheapest whitening one to be honest.  But then I started to notice my enamel was turning translucent & I was convinced my gums were receding, which was all quite concerning, considering my teeth had always been in quite good condition (not one filling I'm proud to report).  Hence I thought it best to return to using something a little more natural.

I've used plenty of natural toothpastes before but, I've found it quite difficult to get one that actively helps to whiten my teeth.  I don't smoke or drink tea or coffee, but I have spent a large number of years consuming high amounts of chocolate, especially dark & unfortunately, I think this has contributed to some staining.  My teeth are not the pearlescent white I would like them to be.  That is until I began to use this toothpaste.

I have to say, brushing with this paste morning & night, has made a noticeable difference to the colour of my teeth, they now seem far lighter.  I'm also impressed that you can buy this in the supermarché too, especially in France!  It makes me happy to see more organic & natural alternatives available.

A Week In Pictures

I find myself in the heart of the Dordogne, where the sun has finally come out & I can feel the warmth on my skin once more.  I couldn't be happier & I couldn't be busier either!

Having made no secret of my love of animals & especially, my desire to work with horses, my dear friend Lucy, put me in contact with her family friends, who run a wonderful sanctuary, for retired British police horses, down in Brantôme.  Thinking I'd spend a week or two mucking out stables & doing general equine related activities, I have found myself falling in love with the place & getting overly involved with all aspects of media marketing, in an attempt to raise awareness, for what I feel, is a most wonderful cause.

I want to fill you in completely on this most wonderful place, so I'm going to make some time in my, seemingly busy, schedule & post something special!  In the meantime, I bring you a pictorial update from the past week, which includes my gardening efforts, a trip to Aubeterre & Bergerac & some of my new four legged friends.

 

For regular pictorial updates, you can find me on Instagram, under @ouijetaimeaussi

REVIEW: Biopha Nature Range

I've been greatly surprised by the large range of organic produce on offer in the supermarkets, out here in France.  Not only do they now provide a huge variety of organic food, but they are also now stretching out into the toiletries aisle too.

Taking a peruse in SuperU, I came across Biopha Nature & decided to give some of their products a try.

After my disastrous experience with Dr Organic, I thought I would try out a new shampoo & conditioner.  I picked a shampoo for dry hair, as my locks are lacking all kinds of lustre at present.  Unfortunately, as seems to be the case in France, there was only one option of conditioner, which was a shea butter one, for all hair types.

I quite liked the shampoo, it had a lovely smell & it left my hair feeling squeaky clean, the conditioner on the other hand...You see, I have very difficult hair, it's fine, but there's a lot of it & it tangles ridiculously easily!  Such a pain!  I find the best solution, is to brush it with a tangle teaser when it's smothered in conditioner, then rinse it out & leave it the hell alone.  Unfortunately, this conditioner, which lacks any real scent, doesn't spread throughout my hair very easily & simply isn't rich enough, leaving it impossible to get my brush through it!  Resulting in tangle central!

I have to admit, I have a lifelong love affair with Palmer's Cocoa Butter.  It's thick, creamy & keeps my skin smooth, toned & happy.  Unfortunately, it's not the most natural of products & so, I have been attempting to find an alternative, since my 400ml bottle ran out.  This body milk by Biopha isn't bad, but I'm not quite used to using a milk, instead of a thick butter.  It goes on nicely & has a really pleasant smell, but I don't find my skin as hydrated as with a butter.  I think I'll carry on my search.

Now, these eye wipes, which I have been using to take all my makeup off with, are my new favourites!  Firstly, they smell like almond macaroons!  So sweet & delicious, I have to stop myself from nibbling on them.  Most importantly, they remove all my face paint & don't leave my skin dried out & blotchy.  Hoorah!  Biopha Nature have succeeded in getting something right!

All in all, not a bad range, especially for something available in the supermarché!

RECIPE: The Ultimate Vegan Scones

I don't think there's anything more quintessentially British, than the great scone.  For me, they remind me of childhood days out with mère, to the little village of Alfriston, where we would feed the ducks, down by the lake & go for a cream tea afterwards.

Now, ideally, any decent scone should be buttery, a little bit crumbly & adorned with an oversized dollop of clotted cream & strawberry jam.  However, returning to my vegan ways, this setup isn't quite feasible & so, I have had to do some experimenting & have come up with...

The Ultimate Vegan Scones

 

 

Ingredients 

225g self-raising flour

1/4 teaspoon of salt

50g vegetable margarine

25g golden caster sugar

125ml soya yoghurt

4 tablespoons of milk (rice, soya, or whatever you prefer)

You can also throw in some currants, for a fruity version.

Instructions

Preheat the oven to 220C/gas mark 7/fan 200C.

Sift the flour into a large mixing bowl & add in the salt.

Pop in the margarine & rub it into the flour, until it becomes a crumb like consistency.

Now add in the sugar.

If you fancy a fruity version, now's the time to throw in any currents.

Make a well in the middle & pour in the yoghurt & the milk.

 Time to get your hands dirty!

Work the mixture, until it starts to form a sticky dough.  Be careful not to overwork!

Knead the dough 3-4 times on a lightly floured surface, working out the cracks.

Roll out the dough, until it's about 2cm thick.

Then, using a 5.5cm round fluted cutter, cut out the scones.

You should get about twelve out of this amount of mixture.

Pop them on a sheet of baking parchment on a baking tray, in the middle of the oven & bake for 10-12 minutes until lightly golden.

Then devour them with margarine & lashings of jam.

Parfait!

I'd quite like to try making them with coconut butter, instead of margarine, for a healthier, slightly less processed version

How do you like your scones?

Nice, where the sun don't always shine.

There was a part of me, that assumed, that once I reached France, I'd just know what to do.  I've always thought of France as my spiritual home.  I don't know why exactly, it's just, whenever I'm there, no matter what part of the country I'm in, I always get that feeling, that I'm where I'm meant to be.

Now don't get me wrong, I've had my ups & downs with France.  For starters, after two years of French class, my ability to speak the language is still embarrassingly poor.  Then, of course, there is, I feel, this slight elitism about the French.  In Italy, if you try to speak Italian, even if you are piss poor at it, they love you for trying, they embrace you.  Yet, in France, if you try & speak French, predominantly speaking, they still seem to dislike you.

Of course, I don't want to tar an entire nation with the same brush.  I have met lots of French people who have been wonderful & whom I am still in contact with.  It can just be very frustrating & somewhat isolating, when you're in a country that you love, trying to incorporate yourself & you feel as though you're being rejected.

So there I was in Nice, waiting for the feeling, that feeling of direction to wash over me & it just wasn't there.  I started to feel more lost than ever.  Was I doing the right thing or had I just rushed leaving Italy.  I suddenly wasn't sure & my indecisiveness took hold & spun me into a black hole of self-doubt.  The kind that sends me off into self-destruct mode.

Making friends with a Chilean guy in my room, we caught the number 100 bus from Place Garibaldi & spent the day in Monaco.  For €1.50 & forty minutes, it seemed madness not to.  It was so warm & sunny, it felt like spring.  The pair of us walked around in nothing but our T-shirts.  It was bliss.  For a brief moment, I actually allowed myself to stop thinking about what to do next & actually just enjoy the moment.

The pair of us walked up to the Jardin Exotique & sat & ate lunch, overlooking the city, with the sea glistening, outstretched in front of us.  I felt happy.  If not just for a moment.  Chilean asked me what I was going to do next, where would I go after Nice.  I couldn't answer.  I hadn't thought further than getting there.

I wasn't worried about money.  I wasn't worried about having somewhere to stay.  I was worried about doing the right thing.  Like honestly, what had made me come traveling in the first place.  It's so easy to sit at home & think the grass is greener in the Mediterranean.  That life would simply make sense somewhere else.  Somewhere warm.  But what happens when you get there & realise, it's not about the place, the issue is you.

That evening, panicked by my own indecisiveness, I sent frantic messages to my friends, posted statuses of distress on my social networks & then, gave in to the hostel's Happy Hour & got drunk on €1 beers.  I could actually sense myself falling into a spiral of incomprehensible madness.  I actually couldn't think straight.  I'd forgotten why I was there.  Lost all that inner peace I'd found in the monastery.  I was a mess.

Hungover the next day, I packed up my things, checked out & wept into my complimentary breakfast in the hostel's bar.  An American guy I'd spoken to the night before, in my drunken depression fueled fog, came to join me.  He was about as clueless as I was.  There's something about New Yorkers though, they radiate this sense of overbearing wisdom.  Consistently psychoanalysing you & reducing you to tears.  Yes, I cried.

Strangely, despite myself, I found that, through my hatred of him, I somehow ended quite liking him.  It was a clear cut case of a love-hate relationship.  Leaving our things in the hostel, we took a stroll through the streets, along the beach & ending up at the castle, overlooking the sea.  There was a busker playing L'Autre Valse d'Amélie on the accordion, which practically gave me chills.  When he then started playing La Vie En Rose, I closed my eyes & I could almost believe I was in Paris.  It was a perfect moment in time.

Returning to our hostel, it was time to make a decision.  I could travel along the coast & work my way up to Paris, or I could head to my friend Kate's in Chabanais.  One was logical & the other was intuitive.  I chose the latter; head to Kate's.  Unfortunately, having been spoilt in Italy, with cheap & easy public transport, I was completely naive when it came to getting around France.  Looking into the train to Limoges, I was shocked when I saw it was going to cost over €150!

This revelation threw me into a panic.  Cue another meltdown.  Thankfully, Jean, one of the guys working at the hostel, who I'd made friends with, came to the rescue & pestered me into looking at BlaBlaCar, a car share website, a few people had mentioned to me.  I hadn't really liked the thought of it & so hadn't bothered to take a look, but ended up being so glad I did.

Essentially, people making long car journeys across country, sign up to the site & advertise seats in their car for a set fee.  All you have to do, is pick someone going your way & contact them to reserve a place.  I managed to find someone who was leaving Nice & driving directly to Limoges, for €50.  Saving me over €100 on train fare.  Only issue was he wasn't going until the following day.

Villa Saint Exupery was now fully booked, because of the impending carnival, so myself & New York, who'd decided to head up to Lyon on the train the next day, found another hostel round the corner & checked in for a night.  Perhaps some time with friends was what I needed, to shift me back into reality.

Verona, Verona, wherefore art thou Verona

Arising very early last Monday morning, I threw on my clothes in the dark of my hostel room, attempting not to wake all other sleeping inhabitants & hopped onto the vaporetto to the train station.  Having learned my lesson from my bus ride to Venice, I had been sure to make a visit to the station the day before, with Jessica, to inquire about the cheaper regionale trains to Verona.

Running roughly every forty minutes, the regionale train costs €7.60, which is far cheaper than its alternative option, which costs €23 & majoritively speaking, if you're savvy with picking your departure time, the journey duration is the same.

My ride to Verona was smooth sailing & just over an hour, however, once there, having been unable to locate affordable accommodation in town, I made the last minute decision to only stay for the afternoon & head to Milan for the night.

Throwing caution to the wind, I made a visit to the Left Luggage room & parted ways with €5 & Sir Fleming's little hand luggage suitcase, which he has thankfully lent me for the trip.  Annoyingly, as you pay per bag, I was still left with a very oversized & ridiculously heavy plastic bag of, quite frankly, crap, that somehow, I have managed to accumulate, in the short time I've been back in Italy.

So off I went, bag of crap in hand, to the ticket office & bought myself a one-way ticket to Milan for the afternoon.  Costing €11.65, the trains for Milan leave Verona regularly & the ticket does not fix you into a set time.  Left Baggage on the other hand, gives you five hours & so, with it at that time being ten in the morning, I figured I should attempt to make it back to the station for three.

The weather in Verona was dire.  Cold, wet & miserable.  I remember watching Letters to Juliet & how beautiful Verona looked.  Me being me, after watching any film that's set outside of England, I become immediately enamoured & start adding destinations to my travel wishlist.  In reality, few places tend to live up to their onscreen beauty.

Having been unable to locate a tourist office in the station & therefore procure a map of the city, I wandered around outside, rather cluelessly, for some exaggerated period of time, attempting to work out which bus I needed to get on, in order to actually reach anything of interest.  Eventually reaching a 'sod it' state of mind, I hopped on a bus destined for Piazza Bra, minus a ticket.

It had taken me long enough to pick a bus to get on, I wasn't about to faff about trying to find somewhere to buy a bloody ticket.  Thankfully, no one in Italy ever asks to see your ticket (don't hold me to that, sod's law you'll now be asked) & even more thankful, it turned out Piazza Bra was the right place to be.

Jumping off right outside a tourist office, I went & grabbed a map of the city & began to locate & circle points of interest.  Unfortunately, my attempts to pack in a morning of sightseeing, before speeding off to Milan, was scuppered by Verona's Monday opening hours.  Both the Arena & Casa di Giulietta, along with essentially all points of interest, were closed until after one.  Brilliant.  Sodding brilliant.

With the rain beating down my enthusiasm & the wind breaking my umbrella, I wandered around, past the Arena di Verona, a smaller version of the colosseum in Rome, up Via Giuseppe Mazzini, passing all the shops & ended up in Piazza delle Erbe, looking at their pitiful market stalls.  Wandering off to the Duomo & being bemused to find an entry fee sign, I ended up in a store doorway, hiding from the rain.

On the verge of tears, my phone dying of battery & my useless umbrella leaving me soggy, I felt tired of traveling.  What was I doing here.  What possessed me to give up the comfort of my beautiful home, my pink Smeg fridge, my French grey walls & my comfy wrought iron bed, to be here, standing in the rain catching a cold.

Just as I was about to throw down my bags & give up entirely, I looked to my right & there, just within sight was a rather nice looking cafe.  Walking closer to get a better look, I was amazed to see the word vegana chalked onto their sandwich board outside.  Could it be, I'd stumbled upon a vegan friendly eatery.

Creeping in, I fell in love with the interior.  Recycled vintage furniture, exposed brick, wooden floors.  All my favourites.  I ordered the cake of the day, an apple tart & it was delicious.  Relaxing into a seat, I plugged in my phone, whipped out my map & gave myself a pep talk.  Deciding that my love affair with Verona was null & void, I decided to cut all losses, wait for one thirty, go check out the Casa di Giulietta & then bugger off back to the station.

The courtyard at Casa di Giulietta is small & not at all like it is in the film, but I really liked it & it's free entry.  There is the statue of Juliet, which, it is said, if you rub her right breast, you will find new love.  So, obviously I gave her a good old grope.  There's a huge gate, laden with multicoloured padlocks, scribbled with people's initials & plenty of gum.  Literally walls covered in chewing gum.

I sacked off paying €6 for entry into the house & having fully grown weary of Verona & the rain, I headed back to the station, via another free bus ride, picked up my bag & caught a train to Milan.

Oh Venice, how you suck me in.

Sunday morning, I woke early to check out of my hostel & whilst packing up, I met my new roommate, Jessica, an American student, studying in Marseille.  We chatted about life in France, my date with Italian Beard & my plans to leave Venice.  I was kind of sad that I should meet her, just as I was leaving, but, unfortunately, this is the life when you're traveling.  Everyone is just passing by.

Having wasted my one full day in Venice, marching at great speed towards empty destinations, I wanted to make sure I at least saw the Guggenheim before I departed.  Unfortunately, me being me, despite wanting to evacuate the island pronto & catch the train to Verona early, I felt guilty about abandoning IB & so ended up messaging him, to see if he still wanted to go.

Leaving my bags at the hostel, I hopped on the vaporetto for Accademia, only for it to turn out to be going in the wrong direction.  Thus, instead of two stops, I had to endure about seven & was sat on the bloody thing for an hour.  You'd think I'd have got the hang of this by now.  Clearly not.

Locating IB, we headed off for the Guggenheim, paid the €12 entry fee each & dumped our bags at the bag check.  I'm no expert when it comes to art, but I do have a fondness & a keen appreciation.  IB being an art student however, made him my tour guide through the entire building.  I started to appreciate art less after that.

Gawping at the works by my favourite artist Pollock, eying up some prints by Warhol & getting lost in the surrealism of Dalí & eventually ending up at my most favourite of places, the gift store!  Made sure to buy a postcard or two, one to send, one to keep as a souvenir.  There's something about the glorious, overpriced tat of a gift store, that makes me overwhelmed with glee.

Leaving the Guggenheim behind, we strolled off to another museum, which for €15 entry, I decided I'd had enough of art for the day & so, left IB to it & went off to snap photos.  Meeting up with him an hour or so later, we finally made it into the St Maria of Salute Basilica for a look around.  Nothing to write home about, but at least it was free entry.

Finally the time came to depart Venice & thinking IB was going to come with me to my hostel to collect my things, before heading to the station, I was surprised when he essentially dumped me at the vaporetto stop, in order to walk to there, alone.  An awkward goodbye & he was off.  Ciao, thanks for...well, not much really.

Solemnly heading off to my hostel, I sat in the lobby, attempting to charge my dead phone & decide what on earth I was doing.  After a message or two to Miss Charlotte, I finally gave up on the idea of going anywhere for the day & checked back into my hostel.  I don't know what it is about me & decision making, but I get myself in such a twist, I really do.  You should see me try to decide between lunch options!

Ending up back in the same room, even in the same bed, I was happy to see Jessica again & the two of us went off on the vaporetto, once again, to San Marco.  We spent the evening getting to know each other, chatting & swapping stories.  Mine seem to mostly revolve around men, which is somewhat worrying.  'There's always a guy!'  There is though, there really always is.  Just a shame I can't seem to find the right one!

Venice, where love is but a mystery.

I've been absent, I apologise, you see, the past week has been rather hectic...

Last Saturday morning in Venice, I awoke with a feeling of nervous excitement.  What if Italian Beard & I didn't get on.  What if it was the alcohol that had made him so alluring.  Getting ready, I headed down to the vaporetto stop & took the number two to the train station.  Praying to God this meeting was going to go well.  Just as I was head down, typing away on my phone, IB appeared beside me.  He was still good looking in the daylight.  A relief.  Dressed in skinny jeans, Converse sneakers & a beanie.

We walked over to San Marco square, the weather being less than impressive.  Thankfully not too cold, but very overcast.  I was hoping to palm my camera off on him all day, make use of his photography skills, but when he took out an SLR with a very impressive lens, I began to feel shy about my measly number.  Having wanted to spend the day taking excessive amounts of photos, I found myself almost too embarrassed to take any at all.  Was he going to judge me on my snaps.  They were never going to compare to his.  He was fiddling with settings, doing test shots, I normally just point & shoot.

After a little while, we took a break on a bench & attempted a conversation.  I soon realised our outlook on life was somewhat separated & my disappointment began to set in.  It was nearly noon & IB wanted to go somewhere for lunch.  I usually snack, backpacking round Europe for six months doesn't often afford you the luxury of eating out.  Whipping my phone out, I found some vegan friendly places to eat, through the HappyCow website.  Picking one, I located it on Google Maps & with IB saying he knew where  it was, we went off in search of it.

Walking along to the Castello district, past the Biennale, the streets becoming more & more desolate, my feet beginning to tire, there seemed no sight of an eatery.  Over an hour went by, looking, looking & still, nothing.  Checking Google Maps again, it seemed we were no where near the place.  We both became so famished & tired, we gave up & IB picked a bar to sit at, back in San Marco.  I looked at the menu, €6 for a panini!  Cripes.  Spent that for a week's groceries in Pisa.  Still, I was sure he'd be a gentleman & pay.

Ordering a vegetable panini, minus the mozzarella & a small bottle of water, when it came, it severely lacked any flavour.  Conversation between IB & I had equally dried up to an implantable level.  When the bill arrived, €14.50, IB said he had €10 & put it down.  I equally only had a €10 note, so threw it into the pot.  Okay, I thought, €4.50, it's not too bad.  But when the change came, which was already short a euro, IB gave me €2!  €8, I spent €8 on a panini & a sip of water.  I was beside myself with annoyance.  Should I say something.  What could I say, thanks for spending €80 on the train to see me, but hey, could you give me my change please?

Being an art student, Italian Beard wanted to go see the Guggenheim & the St Maria of Salute Basilica.  Off we set, in their direction, blindly following his lead once again, presuming, that as an Italian, who'd been to Venice before, he'd know his way around.  However, this turned out to be rather a misconception, as we turned left & then right, over a bridge, round a corner, came to a dead end, back round, over another bridge, round another corner & so on for several hours.

My feet began to hurt, I was tired & getting hungry, still smarting from my €8 panini.  It got dark, it got cold.  Finally, we made it to the Guggenheim.  It had closed minutes before.  Drat.  A few minutes walk away was the church.  Also closed.  Double drat.  By this time I wanted to punch him in the face.  As a first date, things were not going well.

IB then wanted to go & check in at the police station, where he was bedding down for the night.  His father is a policeman & so, as family, he gets to use the accommodation available at any police station all over Italy.  Still worked out more expensive than the hostel I was staying in, but hey, I guess it's the novelty factor.  The station is set just outside of the main island, in Venice Mestre.  A ten minute bus ride away.  Once there, he checked in & then not long after, we hopped on a bus back.  All a bit pointless really & I was starting to feel as though the whole day had been.

By the time we got back to San Marco, it was late.  We'd picked Frary's vegan friendly restaurant, in San Polo for dinner & it closed at ten thirty.  Speed walking in the dark, I indicated to turn right, he said to go straight.  Off we trekked ahead, coming to a dead end & ended up doing a u-turn back to where I had bloody said to go.  Looking at the time, it was now ten twenty & I was about ready to eat my arm, after first ripping it off & beating him with it.  Finally we made it to the restaurant & thankfully, despite the time, they let us in to eat.

Frary's is a middle eastern restaurant, run by a group of Italian woman, that serves non-veg food, but has both vegetarian & vegan options.  I had a mammoth bowl of couscous, laden with roasted vegetables & accompanied by a vegetable soup, which I poured over, like a sauce.  It was quite delicious & I would recommend a visit.  Sadly, despite the good food & Billie Holiday playing out my favourite songs, the atmosphere between IB & I was awkward to say the least.  Every time I tried to strike up a conversation, he just seemed so uninterested.  I just gave up in the end.  At one point we sat in silence, both on our phones.

It is safe to say, that my hopes for an Italian photographer husband had dissolved.  Grateful that he paid the bill, we left, hopped on a vaporetto & departed ways at different stops.  It may be the most romantic thing someone's done for me, coming to Venice to see me, but sadly, it was clear, that being good on paper, just isn't enough.  If there's no spark, no common ground, then really, there's nothing.

I lost myself to Venice.

Waking up in Florence, after two hours sleep, I forced myself up & back into last night's clothes, in order to catch my bus to Venice.  I can't lie, I was harbouring an odour; a concoction of cigarettes, alcohol & my unwashed skin.  Things were not improved by last night's makeup still plastered precariously on my face.

Arriving excessively early for the bus, I sat & chatted to a young German girl, who was on her way to Milan.  We caught the bus to Bologna together & then parted ways.  I never even asked her name.  That's the strange thing about traveling, you meet so many people.  Some go on to be acquaintances you keep an eye on through social media, others lifelong friends & some, you never even know their name.  Such is this life.

Arriving in Venice after a five hour snooze, I wheeled my bag into the tourist office & bought myself a Rolling Venice Card.  This card is essential & if like me, you are twenty nine & under, it comes with a reduction.  For seventy two hours unlimited travel on all public transport, it costs €20 & an extra €4 for a booklet, which equally offers you reductions on everything from shopping to galleries & museums.  Without this, it is €7 each time you want to take the vaporetto!

Off I went to the nearest vaporetto stop, validating my card on the machine outside, before hopping on the number two & arriving on the island of Giudecca, by way of the Zitelle stop.  Checking in at the Generator Hostel, I was pleasantly surprised by how awesome it is!  For only €15 a night, this place is incredible & makes me wonder why all hostels aren't this way!  There's a free photo booth, a mish mash of vintage furniture & giant button-back leather sofas all downstairs, surrounding a cocktail & coffee bar.  The elevators are touch screen, there's exposed brick at every turn & the bedrooms, although lacking some essential lighting in places, are clean, modern & come with an en suite.  Having hostels in Barcelona, Berlin, Copenhagen, Hamburg & Dublin, I would say, if you're off on your travels, choose the Generator!

It was already late in the afternoon by the time I arrived & so, after dropping my things off in my room, I decided to go for a stroll around Giudecca, to investigate the island.  The weather was at times rather drizzly, but for most of it, there was some sun & so, I managed to take a few snaps.  Everything in Venice wants to be photographed.  From the laundry drying on lines between buildings, to the gondolas floating impatiently at the dockside.  Everything screams at you, demanding attention.  Although, I am convinced that I need a new camera, as I swear, all of my photos seem to come out blurry!  It's probably just my lack of photography skills in fairness, but I'll blame the camera in any case. 

Having my fill of the tiny island, I decided to take myself across on the vaporetto to San Marco, still using line two.  It was getting dark by this time & cold.  I took the advice of my friend Katie & decided to just get lost.  Strolling down alleyways, taking a left, than a right, over a bridge, round a corner.  So many shops, gleaming with trinkets & surprisingly very few people around.

Time ticked on & heading down yet another tiny road, I overhead someone ask for directions.  The Italian gentleman they were asking, responded, informing them that said vaporetto stop was closed.  Suddenly I panicked.  I didn't think to check what time the buses stopped!  Wide eyed, I started to head back for my stop, only I realised, I really was lost.  It got darker, it began to rain, the cold set in, I became fraught, imagining myself stuck on the wrong side of Venice all night.  Finally finding a stop, I leapt onto the bus as soon as it arrived & felt relief wash over me.

Unfortunately, it soon returned, as I came to realise this was not the right vaporetto.  Heading further & further away from where I wanted to be, I couldn't decided as to whether it would be better to hop off when I could, or stay on in the hope it would come back round.  Feeling sick that I'd miss the last bus, I finally asked one of the staff on board, who told me to stay on, as the boat would go full circle & I could get off where I started & then get on the right one.

Over an hour later, I finally made it back to Giudecca & back to the Generator.  Still feeling the sway of the boat, as I sat on my top bunk.  Maybe getting lost in Venice wasn't such a great idea after all.   Pulling my phone from my bag, I saw I had a message, from Beard, he was coming to see me in Venice the next day.  Could it be, things were on the upturn?

Oh Florence, the city of hope, continued.

Arising early yesterday, I threw on some clothes & headed to the kitchen for the free breakfast.  Sadly, it seemed I wasn't early enough & just about managed to scrape enough fruit together, to fill a bowl.  Afterwards, attempting to get organised, I showered, packed up my things & checked out of the hostel.  I still hadn't actually worked out where I was going after Florence or what the hell I was doing in general, but let's face it, I'm not known for my organisational skills.

Deciding to stay another night in the city, I found a cheaper hostel online, not far from the train station for the night.  Plus Florence, cheap, clean & fully equipped with an indoor pool, gym & rooftop terrace.  Still no sodding cooking facilities though!  In fact, this one doesn't even come with a microwave, you simply have to plump for the in-house restaurant.  Moving my luggage to the new accommodation, I made it my mission to spend the morning laying concrete plans for the next few days.

Despite some initial gut feelings that were putting me off going, I eventually committed myself to heading to Venice next.  My guide books had told me the fast train was going to cost about €45, which, I was nearly sick at the thought of spending, but seemed to tell me it was cheaper on the slower regional train.  However, when I looked online, I could only find the hefty priced version & so, being on the budget that I am, I decided to take the bus, a snip at €24.  However, with the website not being entirely clear where the bus depot was, I spent an hour stressing out, trying to find it.  Eventually, locating it on Via Santa Caterina da Siena, I booked it for 8:55am the next morning.

The bus from Florence to Venice is run by a combination of three bus companies, Baltour, Eurolines & Sena.  There are three departure times a day, 8:55am, 9:30am & 4:15pm, each taking five hours.  The first two require a change in Bologna & the latter is direct.  The first bus leaves from Via Santa Caterina da Siena, whilst the other two go from outside the city center.  Hence why I chose the first.

Feeling smug with myself, I booked up two nights in the Generator Hostel in Venice, through booking.com & went off to enjoy the markets I didn't have time for the previous day.  Firstly I walked to Piazza della Repubblica for the flower market, there every Thursday, 10am - 7pm.  This was a little disappointing.  In my mind I was thinking Chelsea Flower Show, in reality, it was a bad day at Homebase.  Deflated, I popped down the road to Piazza di Mercato Nuovo, for The Piggy & Straw Markets.  Stalls upon stalls, laden with brightly coloured fruit & vegetables, all willing me to photograph them.

Spurred on, I headed back to Piazza dei Ciompi to try to catch the Mercato delle Pulci flea market.  Thankfully, this time it was open, although, not all the hut-like stalls were, which was so disappointing, as I could see through their windows & it seemed as though all the best ones were closed.  Regardless, I still really enjoyed poking around at all the vintage ware & managed to buy a 1966 postcard, originally written & posted to Rome.  Not exactly necessary, but I liked it.

My last market for the day was in Piazza Ghiberti, but this was a bum note, as it was just another leather market & I'd seen it all before in San Lorenzo.  Having exhausted Florence's markets, I headed over to Via Ricasoli, to have a look around Galleria dell'Accademia & gawp at the wonder that is Michelangelo's statue of David.  Gosh, it was magnificent, it truly was.  How any man can carve such wonder out of stone, is beyond me!  Although, I have to say, that penis was very detailed.

Evening looming, I retired to my hostel & ended up making friends with my Mexican roommate.  Sadly he spoke little English & my Spanish is non-existent!  We somehow managed to hobble a conversation together, enough for him to tell me he'd been to the train station & managed to locate the cheap ticket for the train to Venice!  Bastard!  Of course, it was all too late by then, I'd booked the sodding bus.

Leaving him my number whilst he was in the shower, I headed back out to Piazza Duomo & met up with Katie, a very talented illustrator & fellow Brit, currently living in Florence, who I'd been in contact with through Instagram.  Ah social media, how you bring people together.  Katie, myself & her Finnish friend Salla, took a stroll across the river to Piazza San Spirito, for a vino bianco, my first in two months, at a little bar called Volume.  Sat outside, chatting away, the Mexican rang & later came to join us.  Unfortunately, Katie & Salla aren't Spanish speakers either, so poor Mexico got the cold shoulder most of the night, which I felt quite bad about.

There I am, sat sipping my vino & as I look across, I see Beard's doppelgänger sat at a table in the corner, giving me the eye.  Actually had to double check that it wasn't Beard!  Same face, same facial growth, but no tattoos.  Obviously I was interested & after a couple of hours of subtle glances & wry smiles, I eventually went & introduced myself.  What followed was me discovering my future photographer husband & rolling into my hostel at 5am.  Oh Venice, perhaps you come too soon.

Oh Florence, the city of hope.

Originally I had intended to spend two weeks in Florence, WWOOFing on a farm nearby, that housed forty horses.  I've wanted to work with horses in Italy for some time now & the place I'd found sounded ideal & were the only ones who needed help in winter.  Alas, they did not want me once they found out I was a vegan.  (I know, right!)  So, in the end, I decided to stay for just a few days & oh, what a few days I had!

Having not entirely realised how small Florence town center is, I paid a little extra & stayed in the Academy Hostel, as it is situated right round the corner from Florence's main attraction, the Basilica di Santa Maria Fiore.  The hostel itself was nice & the staff friendly, but what is up with all these hostels & their lack of kitchen facilities!?  I have quinoa to cook damn it!  Don't they know how hard it is to be vegan when traveling!  Pffft.

On my first day in town, having arrived quite late in the afternoon, I dropped my things off in my room & headed out, first stop being the Duomo.  I almost cannot describe its magnificence.  The patterned marble facade is beautiful.  I'll say one thing for these Italians, they're resplendent when it comes to architecture.  Entry to the building is free, so obviously I didn't turn it down.  I was so disappointed at first though.  The interior was so bland, so lacklustre, after the initial allure of the outer shell.  Then, as I moved towards the alter, I looked up & there, beaming down from the dome was The Last Judgement.  A ridiculously large fresco, covering the entire surface of the dome's ceiling, leaving me breathless.

The weather was far better than I thought it would be, even to the point, I shed my jacket & strolled around in just a sweater & jeans.  Meandering around the city streets, I came across Shake Café, a gelateria on Via Degli Avelli, specialising in natural juices, along with healthy wraps & salads, including tofu filled, vegan friendly options.  When I saw they did milkshakes with the option of soya milk, I forgot about my soy intolerance & marched straight in, ordering a Vanilla Sky (Vanilla, banana & honey).  It was so delicious that it was gone by the time I crossed the piazza to enter the Basilica Santa Maria Novella.  Which, by the by, is not free, as the internet informed me & so refusing to pay to enter a church, I didn't bother with.

Keen on visiting every market happening in the city, I headed to Piazza San Lorenzo, to take a look at the leather market.  Walking down the streets, encased by stalls, it felt more like a cattle market, only with me as the goods.  Every seller trying to hussle me, catcalling & trying to convince me to buy their overpriced, hideously coloured leather jackets.  Be gone swines!  I don't want your tat!  Although, I will admit, I did end up parting with money for a small leather drawstring bag, from a mature female seller at the end of the line.  I'm convincing myself it'll be great for summer & perfect for festivals, that's my justification, anyway.

With the night closing in, I made a final attempt to reach the Mercato delle Pulci flea market, in Piazza dei Ciompi.  However, just as I was hovering under a street lamp, attempting to find my direction, map in hand, a voice called out to me, asking if I needed help.  Sounding American & handsome, I turned to look & happily saw that the voice did in fact match the face.  Only, he wasn't American, but Italian, fluent in English, with a quaint, well traveled accent.  Sadly he was heading in one direction & I another, but he gave me his card.  Unfortunately, by the time I reached the market, it was too late & was closed.  Disappointed, I grabbed some bread from a nearby bakery & trekked off home to my hostel.

The Academy Hostel offers free pizza & wine to its guests in the evening.  Obviously a margarita isn't exactly vegan friendly, so I got comfy in the kitchen with my olives & legumes, but bless the receptionist, she came up to me, mid meal, brandishing some bruschetta she'd made, just for me.  I do love a good bit of customer services.

To be continued...

Ciao da Pisa!

After a two month break in England, I have finally made it back to Italy.  A brutal early morning wake up call, a few sobs at the airport, hugging mère goodbye & a short flight & I am in Pisa.  Land of the wonky tower. 

Getting the Lam Rossa bus from the airport to the Piazza dei Miracoli, a snip at €1.20, I walked around the corner to my hostel, Hostel Pisa Tower.  Handy location & for €16 for the night, I can't really complain, although, with no real kitchen facilities, being a vegan in Pisa is not a convenient option.

Having only a day in the city, I decided to follow an itinerary by Around Tuscany.  Although, rather in reverse.  Starting back in the Piazza dei Miracoli, I obviously went straight for the Torre Pendente & oh, what a sight.  I'm a cliche, I know it, but, I only really came to Pisa for the leaning tower & I have to admit, even if I had done nothing else all day, that sight alone was worth it.

After gazing admiringly at it for quite some time, under my umbrella, I moved on to the duomo, which is free to enter, but you do have to acquire a ticket from the Museo delle Sinopie next door.  Don't ask me why, but you do.  [rolls eyes]  I'm in no way religious & don't get any kind of 'vibe' in a church, but darn it, some of them are spectacular, especially the gilded ceilings & this one did not disappoint!  Well worth a visit, especially as it's free.

Deciding to dedicate some time to the joys of the square, I popped back into the Museo delle Sinopie & bought a due ingresso ticket, which allows you to pick any two attractions in the square to visit, for €7, otherwise, they are €5 each.  They do other combinations, tre ingresso for €9 & quattro for €10.  However, the Museo delle Sinopie & the Battistero looked kinda boring, so I just opted to see the Camposanto & the Museo dell' Opera del Duomo.

The Camposanto Monumentale is a cemetery, which was somewhat destroyed before World War two & then ravaged again during restoration work, due to the outbreak of war.  Now with the roof restored & many of the original frescos salvaged, it is a great place to visit.  Equally so is the Museo dell' Opera del Duomo, which is quite large & takes more time to fully take in, than I envisaged.

Housing original works of art from over eighteen hundred years ago, which, I would like to add, are not in any way encased & therefore took all my will power not to grope!  Unlike stiff museums & galleries in England, Italy has a very relaxed policy & whilst you may see a CCTV camera about, there isn't anyone standing by to tell you off for poking a finger at a thousand year old statue.  Much to my glee!

Leaving the square entirely, I pottered off down Via Santa Maria & took a right turn down Via del Mille to Piazza dei Cavalieri.  A huge open expanse, surrounded by the Scuola Normale Superiore (an amazing building), Torre della Muda & the Santa Stefano dei Cavalieri church.  Not much to do there, but worth it for any architectural lovers.

Taking a right turn down Via Ulisse Dini until Via Borgo Stretto, I strolled along, popping in & out of a few shops.  Finally reaching the end of the road, with night upon me, I crossed over the Ponte di Mezzo, stopping midway to take a snap of the river.  Unfortunately, due to lack of camera skills, I was not successful in gaining a nice shot, but the scene itself was rather special.

After a quick walk down the road to see the Chiesa di S.Maria Spina, I carried on down the Corso Italia, which is a long shopping strip.  Made the obligatory visit to Zara naturally, although, walked out empty handed & full of longing.  [sigh]  Taking my retail sorrow to the end of the road, I ended up at Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, where, just to my right, I got to see Keith Haring's colourful mural.

Satiated with my day's excursions, I dashed into a local supermarket to grab something for dinner.  Whilst paying for my olives & lentils I got the shakes & nearly had a cardiovascular breakdown, when I found my hostel keys were gone from my jacket pocket.  All I can say is, I have never been so happy to find something in my jean's pocket in all my life.  [phew]

Off to Florence tomorrow!  Ciao!