Thankful...

... for friends, always. And for the fun I have had traveling with various friends.  It's not always easy (for the other people), but it always ends up being loads of fun.

Around a table in Piegaro, Umbria, Italy Seriously good times.

My Whiteness, Explained.

Meet archaeologist Neil Oliver.  I know nothing about him beyond the great accent and the oddly enticing long hair, but for some reason, I'm intrigued in a way I am not when, say, David Starkey is blathering on about Henry VIII...

Yeah, he wears a kilt in one episode.

TVO just finished airing his series A History of Scotland, which I found truly fascinating- I love history, and I am amazed at how much I didn't know about Scotland.  There were 10 episodes in the series; the first 8 were about the English invading and the tough Scots battling them back, but on the bright side, the armies had different outfits each century, so there's that.

I am fascinated on a personal note, as well.  My pallor was  destined by the collection of European immigrants that showed up in Canada and intermarried. My mother's grandparents were from Scotland and Denmark. The other side of my family was no help in adding some tone to my skin; I'm a Bruce on my father's side- his first two names were Robert Bruce, if that helps paint the picture.

Could have been a picture of sheep!

Anyway, this series makes me want to visit the land of my ancestors.  It would be fun to spend some time around other people who are also the colour of Liquid Paper.

96 percent of Americans have taken advantage of U.S. social programs

96 percent of Americans have taken advantage of U.S. social programs

The money shot of this article is the Craig T. Nelson quote : "I've  been on food stamps and welfare.  Did anyone help me out? No."  I wish I could go back in time and un-watch those lame Coach reruns.

June

I see I didn't manage to post anything in June.  It was a busy month, in mostly good ways.  I spent the first day of June in Paris, in an apartment near the Eiffel Tower with my mother, and I spent the last day of June in a hotel room overlooking Niagara Falls with my boyfriend ( I worked in between there, don't worry!)

Paris was, as it always is, wonderful.  It was a special treat to take my mother, who had never been there before.  I was last in Paris 8 months ago, at the tail end of a trip with friends that started in Rome and wrapped up in Paris.  I have done most of the touristy things, but was happy to do several again, for mom's sake.

We rented an apartment, since we were there for 8 days, and we would have killed each other in a hotel room.  Also, she snores.  She will probably come on here and deny it, but she does.  So does my boyfriend, but where you are allowed to kick your boyfriend in the middle of the night, and force him to roll over, one is generally expected not to do so with one's mother.  I figured separate sleeping areas would be the best solution.  An apartment really does give you the feeling of being a resident, if only for a short while.

I chose a place in the 7th arrondissement, as it is fairly quiet, and well connected.  The building was probably 19th century, and it was just what you'd want.  We were on avenue de la Motte Picquet, near Invalides, but also very near the Eiffel Tower and rue Cler.  It was a breeze to walk over one of the nearby bridges and be on the Champs Elysees, or to go the other way and be in Saint Germain des Pres.

We had amazing weather- much hotter than one expects in Paris.  I brought several outfits that I simply couldn't wear, but luckily had some skirts and sandals.  This week, I'll post some stories and things I learned, but for now, here are a few photos.

Our 'hood.

Mummy waving Hello

Mummy at the Flore

 

Morning Routine

A clock in Brussels... not too useful!

I have never been a morning person.  Literally never.  As a kid I didn't want to get out of bed; by my last year of high school, when people saw me at school before second period, they'd greet me in the hall with "What are you doing here?".  It didn't get any better in university.  For some reason I took a Psych 100 class at 8:30 AM in first year.  I went so infrequently that one day I decided to call the professor's office because I had an inkling a mid-term must be coming up.  It was that afternoon.  You can imagine how well I did, but at least I learned never to take a class before 10.

I even maintained some level of comfort with an early job at a bookstore; I made my own hours, so I often scheduled myself for 10-6:30 or 12:30 to 9.  I miss that... I don't miss the flimsy paycheque, however.

As I advanced (a bit) up the corporate ladder, the ability to sleep in has slowly evaporated.  Despite that, I still get to sleep in longer than most people.  I don't have kids, and my commute is an enviable walk of 15 to 20 minutes.  No traffic jams or public transportation to deal with, just the occasional downtown crazy homeless person.  A small price to pay for extra sleep!

The thing is, I have always envied Morning People.  They seem so together, so organized.  While they are calmly reading the paper and having a healthy breakfast, I am scrambling to find matching shoes and counting the toothpaste I swallowed as a breakfast food.  How do I become one of them?

Ideally, I'd like to get up about an hour earlier, which would give me enough time to hit the treadmill and eat without having to do it over the sink.  

I picture something like this:

6:30 Wake up, have water with lemon

6:40 Get on treadmill

7:10 Hit the shower

7:40 Have breakfast

8:15 Leave for work

This seems ridiculously easy; I'll bet 99% of the (5) people who read this get up by then.

For comparison's sake, here's my typical morning:

7:20 Hit snooze button

7:30 Hit snooze button

7:40 Turn off alarm but still don't get up

7:45 Jump out of bed in a panic and run to the shower

8:15 Leave for work with wet hair.

Surely this can be improved upon.  If anyone reads this, and has somehow managed to change from a Night Owl to a Morning Person, please let me know how!

Santa Maria Novella, Bella!

If you've ever been to Italy, you may have noticed a preponderance of churches.  Initially, it's fascinating to tour duomos from different centuries, to compare the regional architectural differences, and to admire the art.  Eventually, however, you hit the wall.  (This can also happen in museums like the Uffizi, after viewing your 200th Madonna and Child.) On our trip to Italy last year with 8 friends, a group of us decided to visit Florence.  I had been there a few times before, but some of our buddies had never seen this wonderful city, so 5 of us took the train from Chiusi for a very memorable day.  We had already seen many churches, so our itinerary would be a little different this time.

Orvieto Cathedral- loveliest facade in Italy.  

One friend who didn't come, our Lone Italian, asked a favour of us before we left- she wanted us to pick her up some soap from "the old pharmacy near the train station.  You can't miss it- Catherine de Medici used to shop there!"  No problem.  With no better instructions, we headed to Florence, and got off the train at Santa Maria Novella station, near the church of the same name.  We glanced around for a fancy pharmacy, but didn't see anything, so we continued on past the church.  I lead the pack, as I tend to do, down a certain walk to show them my highlights of Florence.  We headed down via dei bianchi, then onto via tornabuoni.  Our first stop was Procacci, a little truffle shop the BF and I discovered a few years ago, and where I had a lovely afternoon sitting at a green marble table, drinking Prosecco, and eating tiny truffle sandwiches.  Heaven.  This time, we were able to get a few tables together, and everyone tried various little delicacies with the required bubbly.  (A side note on Prosecco- it's much cheaper than Champagne, and delicious in its own way.  I was happy that on this trip, one of our group, an inveterate beer drinker, also enjoyed a Prosecco aperitif each evening.  One glass and he was hilarious for the rest of the night.) After leaving Procacci, we walked down to the Arno, passing my church, the Ferragamo flagship store and museum.  No shoes this time, but my loafers from a few years ago are holding up beautifully. 

Procacci deliciousness.

It was a ridiculously hot and humid day, and I had forgotten my hat, so I decided to buy one from a street vendor.  When I came upon a man selling a hat that was really cheap and only sort of ugly, I stopped to purchase.  Before walking away, I asked about the pharmacy, in the saddest Italian ever. "dove la farmacia Catherine de Medici?"  He responded by pointing south, and I was about to walk away when an old man who had heard me piped in "Non, Non" he shouted, "via della scala! Via della scala!" The two of them fought for a bit, waving their arms for emphasis, pointing in opposite directions.  Eventually, the man who sold me the hat relented.  In halting English, he said "He is sure," and he shrugged.  I had to choose, so I went with the old man.  I decided to trust him because of his certainty, and because he was rocking a 3 piece suit when all the tourists around him looked like they were at the beach.  Surely this slave to style and taste wouldn't put me wrong.

That's one ugly mofo of a hat, isn't it??

After a few hours sweating our way through the Boboli Gardens, and the Galileo Museum, we had a late lunch, wandered past the famous duomo, and went off to see if we could find the pharmacy on the way back to the train station.  We found the street easily, but without anything else to go on, we were still just looking for a fancy building.  Many side streets in Florence are a little grubby, and via della scala is no exception.  We were almost ready to pack it in when one friend ducked into a hotel lobby to ask for directions, and right as he reappeared, I said- "It's got to be here- do you smell that?" He pointed across the street- we had at last found Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella . 

Shopper's Drug Mart this ain't.

Had we ever!  Inside, it was an amazing structure, full of marble, old wood, and frescoed ceilings, and selling perfumes, soaps, even pet care items, all in glass cabinets.  It was such a beautiful oasis that we all decided to get a few things, so we put together a large order with one helpful clerk.  I don't think I realized at the time that I was paying 30 Euro for a lip balm, but what the hell, we were on vacation.  Indeed, Catherine de Medici had been an early customer, and the whole operation was started by monks at the eponymous church (of course).  We left with bags of soap, lotion, fragrance and balms.  I don't think anyone broke down and bought this for their pet, but what we did get certainly qualified for a VAT refund.

An oasis!

The S. M. Novella pharmacy was a wonderful discovery thanks to an Italian friend, a natty old man, and my desire to go anywhere other than inside another church.  After all that fun, we had a train to catch.

Boston Too Common

Went to Boston a while ago so the BF could run the legendary Boston Marathon.  It was one of the hotter marathon days ever- an incredible 31 degrees (90 or so) on the day of the race, so he ran slowly.  Ultimately, I think we’re both happier to have had a lovely warm weekend than perfect running weather (overcast and sort of chilly).  We had a great time; the city is beautiful, our hotel was perfectly located, and we had some great meals. 

A few things I noticed about Bostonians- they’re quite friendly (and yes, many of them talk like this).  They will invariably ask you where you’re from, and since I said Toronto, I was usually peppered with sports questions I couldn’t answer.  I felt the same deer-in-the-headlights look I get when a saleswoman in a Paris boutique assumes from my high school French that she can randomly change the subject and I’ll be able to follow.   

Another thing I noticed is that Bostonians are the most aggressive pedestrians I have ever seen, as crazy as the Neapolitans! You can’t make a right turn on a red light there, so the walkers and drivers each have a chance, but the pedestrians don’t care, and cross whenever they want.  The drivers were extremely patient with this- I didn’t hear a single car horn.  

The other thing I noticed on this trip was that people were dressed pretty badly.  Badly breaking out into two categories: Inappropriately Casual and Inappropriately Skanky.

Now, I am not advocating a return to the days where men wore suits to baseball games, but would it kill a dude to tuck his shirt in at a nice restaurant?  A lot of this I can’t blame on locals; the marathoners were some of the worst offenders.  Seriously, we’re all impressed that you’re fast- doesn’t mean you have to wear your running gear to dinner. (The day after the race, there were still people roaming the city in the shirt and medal.)

Even the dames look swell!

At a restaurant that I assumed would be like Canoe in Toronto, (great view, good menu, etc) the crowd dressed like they were auditioning for Big Fat Gypsy Weddings or a People of Walmart compilation.  A woman at the next table wore a hot pink tube dress, high heels and had her hair teased and pinned to the side, the better to read the scrawling tattoo across the back of her neck.  (It looked like it said Louis Vuitton, but there is just no way.)  Her friend had a dress with a big stomach cut out like you occasionally see on a bathing suit.  Just…no.

Everywhere we went, there were guys in cargo shorts, t-shirts, and baseball hats.  Inside, outside, didn’t matter.  When did it become the case that a man’s outfit for cleaning out the garage became acceptable for restaurants and theatres?  And ladies, the entire world is not a club.  The stuff you used to see on a Friday night at 1 AM is now right there in the Starbucks line or at Macy’s or in the park.  People need to remember appropriateness.  It’s a word, I swear!

Um, at least this dude accessorizes...

Best dressed man in Boston.

I shouldn’t single out Boston for this- it’s pretty bad everywhere in North America.  Let’s make a pact, as a continent, to try to dress a little better, shall we?

Plan for the Best

I'm a Planner. It's the positive manifestation of my Worrier/Fatalist personality. Since I worry so much about things going wrong, I do all the advance planning I can to minimize the possibility. Never more than when I am planning a vacation.

If you've read any previous travel posts on this blog, you may be aware that I will occasionally lose my shit while traveling. Friends, that is after planning; imagine the horror if I didn't do so much pre-trip research? I'd like to share the best of what I've learned, because it really does make a difference.

1. DO NOT check luggage. Unless you are moving to the other end of the earth for the rest of your life, you can get all you need into a carry-on. I've demonstrated that in a past post. I will say, if you must check luggage, at least have a carry-on of emergency requirements- a change of clothes, toiletries, etc. Honestly, the feeling of landing and deplaning in Europe, and walking directly to the train or bus to get to my destination cannot compare to hanging around the baggage carousel, silently, then vocally, praying that your luggage will somehow turn up. This is especially true if you will be changing flights. I do always check luggage on the way home, though. I'll buy a cheap tote bag and fill it with my purchases, check it, and keep my carry on with me. Since I'm heading back home to all my stuff, if it takes the airline a few days to get my luggage back to me, I'm no worse off.

2. Google Maps/Street View. My new best friend. You can "walk" around your vacation destination and get a feel for landmarks, streets, and even what your hotel looks like from the outside. This can be very helpful when you're arriving, tired and dying to drop off your bags and get a drink. When we arrived in Paris last September, at the Gare du Nord, we got a subway to the stop nearest our hotel in Montparnasse, Vavin. When we got to street level, I immediately recognized the buildings, and new how to get to the hotel. We were in the lobby in about 2 minutes, with none of that standing, spinning 360 degrees, trying to find a street sign. The BF was very impressed. He had actually used Google Maps and Street View to "drive" the confusing route through Umbria to the little hill town we'd stayed in before coming to France. He was so pleased with himself he even took mini-detours to show us shops he'd found along the way. We got to the villa quite painlessly. We then drove from Cinque Terre in Italy to Aix-en-Provence, France, with the help of Google. Because I'd checked out the streets, I knew exactly what the exterior of our hotel's garden walls looked like, so it was a breeze finding that one too.

Even before the advent of Google Maps and Street View, I have always studied maps before a trip. It really helps you orient yourself, and then you feel comfortable ducking down side streets, knowing you'll eventually come across a landmark and be able to get back to where you were. This also helps me spend less time with an actual map on the street looking like a lost tourist, and therefore a potential crime victim. I can walk with purpose, looking at the world around me, not a map.

3. Get a guide book you can trust, and that suits your style. If you care mostly about museums, or if you care mostly about food (hello!), you can find a book that suits your specific needs. I like books that have a sections like "what to do if you have 2 days, 3 days, or a week". You can read ahead and see what appeals to you. Don't just do the "Top 10" if they aren't what you want. I've been to Paris a few times, and I've never been to the Louvre. I'll be back in Paris in a few months, and I have no plans to go this time either. I love art, and will go to some other museums, like the Musee d'Orsay, but the Louvre is more like a mountain to climb or a project to complete, and although it's an incredible museum, I'm just never in the mood to do battle with the tourist hordes to see famous paintings behind glass and tall people. I will, however, try several new patisseries I have read about :)

4. Do what you can from home. I've been to the Uffizi and the Accademia in Florence twice each, and though the Uffizi does get crazy busy, I've never waited a moment, because I always pre-book my tickets from home. When you get there, you'll invariably see a line up, but you walk right past, go in and give them your pre-booked print out, and you're in! I would advise to go very early to the Accademia- Florence is a pretty compact city, if you're staying there, so getting up a bit early doesn't have to be too painful. You can enjoy the magnificent David, and be on your way to the rest of Florence's sights by 9:30 AM. I also book train tickets and restaurants, if I want to go somewhere specific. For this upcoming trip, we'll be doing a day in Champagne, so I'll get the train tickets, and possibly book some tours, a few weeks before we go. So much easier.

5. Wear comfortable, but NICE shoes. No running shoes, unless you are running for exercise. This mostly applies to European cities. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but if you are wearing running shoes, a baseball hat, and a t-shirt with writing on it (add a fanny pack for fun!), you are the cliche tourist. There are so many brands of comfortable shoes that look nice- Tom's espadrilles are comfortable, Clark's, Rockport, Cole Haan- you can get lovely shoes that will stand up to miles and miles of walking on cobblestone, but you will look appropriate to duck into a cute bistro or a store. I frankly insist on this. And as for these fanny packs, I don't get why women don't just carry purses. The crime rate in most, if not all, European cities is lower than most American cities, and I somehow doubt an American visiting Washington DC would trade her purse for a fanny pack, so why in Europe? Look at the locals- they all use purses! Yes, I know there are muggers and pickpockets who are very skilled, so keep your bag close to you, keep it zipped up, and give the stink-eye to anyone who gets close to you. To me, a fanny pack says to a potential pickpocket "tourist with cash!". If I were a pickpocket, that's who I'd target.

In case you think all this planning sucks the spontaneity out of your trip, fear not. There will always be surprises around every corner. I may have used Google to discover that there was a patisserie on rue Delambre, but I had to go inside to discover melty little cakes in chocolate and caramel!

Happy vacation planning! I hope you have a wonderful trip, but I will worry about you... ;)

Queen Conch

Last year, while hunting for shells, I inadvertently pulled a live baby conch from its briny home in the Caribbean sea off Eleuthera, Bahamas, and tossed it in a plastic bag. As we drove away, Peter noticed the sound of it trying to escape its plastic prison- fairly creepy, I must say. Apparently it is illegal to harvest baby conchs, so at our next stop we tossed my little friend back into the ocean. I hope he had the chance to grow up and become a delicious salad.

At Queen Conch, on Harbour Island, we met a lovely couple who have been making impossibly fresh conch salads for, as the chef said, "12 or 15 years, I can't remember. Started with just a piece of plywood."

The restaurant isn't fancy, and it isn't a restaurant. It's a stand, with a few seats in the front, in the shade, where you can watch the salads being prepared, and a nice deck out back with several tables overlooking the sea.

Fun Lori Fact: As usual, I had to go to the bathroom, and since QC is more akin to a hot dog stand than a restaurant, I wasn't sure what my next move would be. I asked the lady making salad, and she said "go to the liquor store across the street and ask if you can use the bathroom". When I gotta go, I gotta go, so I did just that. They were very accommodating, and led me to the staff bathroom, complete with a sign on the door, inside, that said "We Watchin' You, Sucka!". Totally didn't care. There was no soap or towels, but I had Kleenex and Purell, so everything was fine.

Peter also made a trip to the liquor store, but to get us drinks to go with our salad. You can't drink on public streets in the Bahamas, except you can, if your beer is in a paper bag. Peter goes in and comes back with 3 beers in little bags. "Um, are we having company?" I asked. "I asked for two, but they said they were 3 for $4.99, and didn't tell me how much two cost". I don't think this development annoyed him one bit!

You wait a while for your salad, unless you're smart and come by early. To order, you write your name, what you want, and when you want it on the legal pad on the counter. A perfectly acceptable system!

We watched as the ingredients for 6 servings were prepared- onions, red and green peppers, tomatoes, garlic all chopped by hand. And, of course, conch so fresh the pile of huge shells sits in shallow water just behind the stand. Limes are sliced and squeezed over all. Home made hot sauce was sprinkled in, according to your order. We went with Medium. Mild is for wimps, but something told me that Hot would kill me. Then, he adds whatever else people want. When regulars came by, the chef shouted out "Tim, you want hot peppers?" or "How about some sweet orange today?" and the extra ingredients would be added.

The salad was heaven. Not a thing in there that's bad for you, as fresh as can be, and made completely by hand, outside, under a plywood roof, about 10 feet from the sea.

What more could anyone want, but to go back for more some day?

Kansas GOP House Speaker ‘Prays’ That Obama’s ‘Children Be Fatherless And His Wife A Widow’

Kansas GOP House Speaker ‘Prays’ That Obama’s ‘Children Be Fatherless And His Wife A Widow’: pThinkProgress reported last week that Kansas House Speaker Mike O’Neal (R) was forced to apologize to First Lady Michelle Obama after forwarding an email to fellow lawmakers that called her “Mrs. YoMama” and compared her to the Grinch. Earlier that same week, the Lawrence Journal-World was sent another email that O’Neal had forwarded to House [...]/p

Seriously.

Christianity, you are going to need some better representation if you want anyone to respect you or take you seriously. Even in my most atheist moments, I have never wished for the death of an elected official. And frankly, beyond some minor differences in tax policy, what the hell is the difference between President Obama and a Republican? He's kept the wars going, kept Gitmo and the surveillance state thriving, hasn't touched anyone's guns or bibles. So I guess that means that Mike O'Neal wants him dead for wanting the tax bracket for the country's highest income earners to be what it was during the Clinton (and Reagan) administrations.

Stay classy, Mike, and all your fellow "Christians."

Fake!

My Furla on vacation on Harbour Island

Purses are like orgasms: a good one can knock your socks off, but when you bust out a fake, trust me, you’re not fooling anyone.

I don’t get the appeal of fakes. Are you trying to convince people you’re rich? Because when I see you sitting on the subway wearing an Old Navy hoodie and running shoes, I really don’t think you spent $3500 on that “Vuitton” bag you’re carrying. But you know what’s even sadder? When the person I’ve just described actually does have a real bag! Seriously, if you got rich selling credit default swaps to suckers, or your dignity to reality TV, go to town, and spend all you want on your accessories. Get all the Speedys and Birkins and whatever else you need to advertise your money and justify your facelift. Whatever. But if you’re middle class (or lower), and you scrimp and save, maybe blow those hard-earned dollars on an RRSP or something. Don’t hand it over to a super rich designer to try to convince everyone else on the bus that you’re wealthy.

I say this as someone who loves to shop (see blog name), and loves purses and shoes, but there are considerations of proportion and appropriateness. My every day bag is a $200 Fossil, bought at Sears! I get compliments all the time. It fits my needs, it’s good looking, durable, and it’s not meant to be “saying” much about me. It’s meant to be big enough to take a pair of nice shoes to the office for the day. The most I have ever spent is maybe $400, on a Marc by Marc Jacobs bag, or a Furla bought in Italy for much cheaper than they are sold in North America. The Furla (and tiny Longchamp bought in Paris) came out of the vacation budget, not the clothing budget. Where others pay for rides at Disney, or stake themselves gambling money, I build the shopping money into the vacation cost. I suppose I could use a burlap sack, but remember, I am arguing for proportion, not against fashion. I can afford the bags I buy.

For $250, you can get a nice leather purse, made in Canada, from Roots. For $650, you can get a nylon piece of crap from Prada, the sole advantage, for those who see it that way, is that it has their logo on it. Please.

For $50 you can get a knock-off, but it’s well documented that when you buy a fake, you are supporting a shady underground economy. Think about it: the people making the real bags barely make enough to get by; what sort of pay and conditions do you think apply to the poor souls making knock-offs and sold on the street? And the money you spend isn’t going to shareholders or into the company pension fund; it’s going to gangsters and drug lords.

Remember that for everything we buy, there are people attached. Someone sewed your clothes, made your shoes, constructed your ipod. We should think of these people when we decide how we spend- think of who gets the money. In these mean times, with pressure to roll back labour laws, or worse (see Newt Gingrich’s Scrooge-like solutions below), and the rich telling the rest of us “be happy you even have a job” the only power we have left is how we disburse the money we do have. Vote with your money. Vote by shopping at stores that pay decent wages, don’t import everything, and don’t lobby to cut back workers’ rights. Vote by not giving your money to criminals so you can try to convince people with your “Chloe” bag that you’re in the 1%. You worked hard for your money- spend it wisely.

Bonus:

Some simple equations and stereotypes to determine reality of merchandise:

Chanel bag+Good Facelift+Rich Husband =100% Real

Chanel bag + Good Facelift= 90% Real

Chanel bag + Bad Facelift= 70% Real

Chanel bag+Job With Hourly Wage + Live in Parents’ Basement=40% Real

Chanel bag +Job With Hourly Wage + Mortgage=0% Real (Or you’re just nuts.)